


In Sweat and Blood

by ApocalypticRepo



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen, LetsSingtheDoomSong on fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2027001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypticRepo/pseuds/ApocalypticRepo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorain was running from everyone it seemed until she got to Skyrim. Daughter of the Listener and her mother's former Speaker in the Dark Brotherhood, she tries to find her way to familiarity only to find it not exactly as it seems when she finds out she's the Dragonborn. </p><p>(Unsure of who I'm going to pair her with. Any ideas: Let me know! Skyrim has taken over my life...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dragon Fire and Brimstone

Her head throbbed worse than a hangover after a night of drinking ale and mead and if the goose-egg on the back of her head wasn't the cause of it, she didn't know what was. Dizziness and nausea overtook her senses from the rocking, forcing her to swallow it down so she wouldn't get sick all over the Nord's boots seated across from her. She didn't remember much up to the point when she got struck, but all she knew was that she was in the back of a cart and she was the odd-man out being a Dunmer surrounded by Nords.

The Nord she nearly was sick on was a blonde man with a braid down one side of his face and a tan complexion from Skyrim's sunny weather. Probably worked outside most of his childhood and looked comfortable in his armor unlike others that she's seen back in Cyrodiil, a boy by no means. He had a neat trimmed beard, blonde just like his hair and blue eyes that were focused on the road ahead of the cart.

The Nord seated next to him was brunette and looked worse for wear with bruises and blood staining his face. He was darker than the others and almost could pass for a Breton or a Redguard, but his size gave him away as a Nord. He was dressed in rags, the same as her which were starting to itch, but she couldn't itch at them since her hands were bound in front of her.

The last Nord, someone who was either a noble or in a position of power or both, was tied and gagged unlike the rest of them. His fine furs and well-made armor screamed noble, maybe a Thane or even a Jarl.

"Hey you!" Her attention was drawn to the Nord seated across from her. "You're finally awake," He said with a smile. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there." He was talking about the Nord in rags.

She nodded, chosing not to say much. She didn't remember much after reaching Darkwater Crossing, but she did remember why she was running. She remembered clearly as her brothers and sisters of Sithis burned and were struck down by the Imperial guards as their sanctuaries were destroyed one by one. She knew not of the fate of the corpse of the Night Mother, but she begged Sithis that she was safe in the hands of the Keeper. She was told to run by her mother, the Listener, before the doors of their Santuary was broken down.

She had no idea how she escaped, but she had an feeling that her mother was the cause of it. Her mother was surely dead now. That was little over two years ago. Two years of running before they finally caught up to her forcing her to try and run to Skyrim.

"Damn you, Stormcloaks!" The thief growled at the blonde. "Skyrim was _fine_ until you came along. Imperials were nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I would have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to say something to blonde, ask him his name, but the horse thief cut in again. "You there, you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"You think so?" She asked. "And do you really know me?" The thief didn't know how to respond and opted to not answer.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," The blonde Nord said.

"Shut up, back there!" Their carriage driver shouted uncaringly.

"What's up with him?" The thief asked, gesturing to the gagged man seated next to her. She was wondering the same, but didn't want to ask.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" The blonde exclaimed like he truly believed the words.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion? But if they captured you... Oh Gods! Where are they taking us?!"

She smiled at her correct guess: A Jarl of all things tied up in the back of a car with her - an assassin -, the horse thief and a soldier fighting in a rebellion. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits. What's your name?" The blonde Nord asked.

"Thorain," She answered. "And you?"

"Ralof."

"What about you, horse-thief?" She didn't necessarily care, but she'd like to know the men she was more than likely going to die with.

"L-Lokir."

"What village are you from, horse-thief?" Ralof asked the Lokir.

"Why do _you_ care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." Truer words had never been spoken and she thought of the Santuary she had grown up in back in Cheydinhal.

Her mother, the Listener, said that she had come to the Sanctuary years prior and there were completely different faces (apparently Arquen's face she was still more than content with punching in the face and skinning her alive if she didn't need a Speaker but apparently it was just the two of them left after a massacre). She also said that she was the last gift the Night Mother ever gave to her of the man she loved which made no sense to her since she had never met her father nor really knew who he was.

She didn't quite catch where the horse-thief was from but took notice of the walls and gates of a city. "Where are you from?" Ralof asked her, but she ignored him, watching the gates get closer with each passing moment.

"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" She heard someone shout.

"Good, let's get this over with."

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynerath, Akatosh. Divines, please help me!" Lokir prayed desperately.

"Your Gods will not want anything to do with what is about to happen, Lokir," Thorain said. "Leave them out of this." They passed through the gates and the first thing she noticed were three people atop horses. An Imperial general, a soldier to his right and an agent of the Thalmor across from him.

"Look at him: General Tullius, the military governor," Ralof spat, glaring in Tulius' direction. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves..." She shot him a look and he quickly said, "I mean the Thalmor of course! Not all elves." She looked around the quaint little city, watching people come out of their homes to see the condemned roll by in carts like this was a parade.

"This is Helgen," Ralof explained. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in? Funny, when I was a boy Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

"And now we're all about to die within them," Thorain commented.

The first cart stopped just before a tower and they pulled up right next to them. "Why are we stopping?" Lokir whimpered, clearly not hoping for a certain answer.

"Why do you think?" Ralof asked. "End of the line."

"I guess it was nice knowing you, for the brief period we knew each other," She faked a smile that Ralof returned. _Well_ , she mused, _at least I get to die with the face of a handsome Nord on my mind._

One by one, the lept off the back of cart while Lokir tried to plead his case which fell on deaf ears, standing in a huddled group while the Captain of the Guard and an Imperial soldier waited, the soldier holding a clipboard in his hand. "Step towards the block when you hear your name. One at a time!" The captain ordered.

"Empire loves their damn lists..." Ralof muttered earning a half-assed smirk from Thorain.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." Ulfric stepped up and walked toward the executioner's block with his head held high. He was prepared to die with his men which almost made Thorain feel pity for him if she wasn't about to die as well.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof said bowing his head in respect for the man.

"Ralof of Riverwood." Ralof stepped off, giving Thorain one last passing glance. She swallowed thickly at the thought of Ralof dying. He seemed too... kind to deserve the headsman's axe, but he had enough strength to see this through to the end. As he passed the man with the clipboard, he threw a glare in his direction and it became apparent that the two knew each other. "Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Lokir shouted, staggering up to the man and the Captain. The man shoved Lokir away. "You're not gonna kill me!" He shouted as he broke into a sprint down the road they just came. Thorain shook her head - gutless to the end, Lokir was. Archers easily shot him down at the captain's command and he died face-first on the cobblestone road. Not a graceful way to go.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The captain sneered but received no answer.

The man looked at his clipboard than back up at Thorain before gesturing to her. "Wait, you, step up." She obeyed and stood only about two feet from the Nord in Imperial armor. "Who are you?" Now she was confused.

"Thorain," She answered honestly.

"Another refugee? Gods really have abandoned your people, Dark Elf," He said, honestly apologetic and sympathetic for the fate of her people, not that she knew. She was born in Cheydinhal, not Morrowind. "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list." There was a brief moment of hope that maybe she wasn't going to die here after all.

"Forget the list. She goes to the block."

The man looked genuinely distressed at this, but resigned, "By your orders, captain. I'm sorry," He said to Thorain next. "We'll make sure your remains are returned to Morrowind."

"Actually could you return them to Cheydinhal? That was where I was born," She asked and he nodded. She straightened her back and made her way to the group awaiting for their heads to be chopped off. It was easy to see that Ulfric was going to go last: watch all his men die before he himself is killed to live with the guilt of starting this war even in the afterlife.

She stood next to Ralof, a familiar face before she was beheaded. He looked at her and nudged her arm as if to say _I'm here_. The reason she was arrested shouldn't be why she was here. If they knew of her affiliations, then they had every right to execute her, but being caught nearby a Stormcloak escort and Jarl Ulfric himself? Seemed like a load of bullshit.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," General Tullius said, standing directly in front of the gagged Jarl. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." The Voice? What did he mean by that? Not that I was going to find out since I was about to die.

Ulfric could only give a muffled grunt in response. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace." _Something_ echoed through the mountains and valleys that sounded way too loud to be any animal I had hear - the roar or something of that nature.

"What was that?" The man who had spoken to me before asked, looking around.

"It's nothing. Carry on," Tullius dismissed.

"Yes, General Tullius. Give them their last rites," The captain ordered the Priestess of Arkay who began her sermon.

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved..."

She was interupted by a Stormcloak soldier stepping up and shouting, "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with."

"As you wish," She said, a little miffed that she couldn't finish her sermon. Save it for those who care, sister.

"Come on! I haven't got all morning!" He shouted at the captain who pushed him to his knees and used her foot to place his neck over the block. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" He asked before the large axe swung down on his neck, severing his head from his body. It was over before anyone could react and the captain pushed his body off to the side, not bothering to have anyone come collect it.

The man, Hadvar she would learn later, looked pale at the sight, but kept himself together. "As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof muttered, lowering his head in respect for the dead.

"Next, the Dark Elf!" The captain called out, making Thorain swallow hard.

She glanced over at Ralof and said, "I'll see you on the other side, I guess." The same roar from before echoed again, this time seeming to be closer.

"There it is again. Did you hear that?" Hadvar asked his captain who brushed it off again.

"I said: Next prisoner." Thorain held her chin up and approached the block, gazing warily down at the body of the Stormcloak who bravely went to his death. He was still warm as she was pushed to her knees and a foot placed on her back to hold her in place. She stared at the executioner, large axe poised and ready to take her head off. She thought of her mother: of how bravely she had fought before the guards had struck her down giving her daughter time to make her escape.

 _Something_ flew around the mountains, large black and winged which made Tullius shout, "What in Oblivion is that?!"

Before anyone could react, that large something landed on the tower behind them and for a brief moment, Thorain already thought she was dead because there was no way this was real. A real, live, fire-breathing _dragon_ was perched on the tower. The executioner moved away from the dragon, leaving her still poised on the block too shocked to move.

Several shouts of an unknown force came from the dragon, destroying buildings and scattering the people. Tullius shouted for his guards to get the towns people to safety, while Thorain felt a hand on her arm. "Thorain, get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!" It was Ralof who had somehow managed to get his hands free for the time being. He pulled her to her feet and guided her towards the nearby toward to try and take shelter from the dragon.

Several Stormcloaks were already inside, including Jarl Ulfric when they staggered inside, slamming the door shut behind him. "Jarl Ulfric!" Ralof exclaimed. "What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric answered and a cold chill settled through Thorain's bones: She wasn't dreaming and she wasn't dead, there was a real dragon burning down the town of Helgen and killing its people. "We need to move! Now!"

"Sir, they're too hurt to move!" A Stormcloak soldier shouted, tending to two wounded Stormcloak women.

"Just leave us! Don't sacrifice your lives for us!" One shouted and the other nodded, too weak to say anything.

Ralof had a grip on Thorain's arm again and pulled her toward the stairs. "Up through the tower, let's go!" He ushered and she allowed him. She wasn't much use with her hands still bound and there wasn't a knife available to cut her loose. At the top of the stairs was a cave in that blocked their access.

"We just need to move some of these rocks," A soldier said, hefting a few rocks out of the way. Thorain nearly stumbled back down the stairs when the wall to her right was broken through to reveal the dragon's head.

"Get down!" She shouted, looping her tied wrists around Ralof's neck throwing him into the nearby wall to block any sort of fire damage he may receive with her own body. She was a Dark Elf and used to such heat, but he was a Nord and in no way would be be able to bare it.

The dragon flew away to destroy some other part of the town and they made their way to the hole it made. Across the way was a burning building which was their only means of escape since their first way was now blocked by a ton of rubble. "See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!" Ralof ordered, gesturing to the burning building.

"Are you nuts?" She shouted over the dragon's screeching.

"Go! We'll follow when we can!"

She groaned at the stubbornness of Nords and ran for the hole in the wall. She launched herself by the pure power of her legs and landed safely on the other side, only for her to loose balance since she couldn't use her hands. She staggered and stumbled until she fell through a hole in the floor, coughing as the wind was knocked out from her lungs when she connected with the floor below.

Ever so gingerly, she made it to her feet and ran out of the burning inn. "Don't look up! Focus on me! Come on!" She heard the familiar voice of Hadvar shout. He was crouched, gesturing to a little boy to come to him frantically. "Haming, you need to get over here, NOW! That a boy! You're doing great!" The boy rushed to Hadvar and slammed into the Nord's stomach just as his father was roasted alive by the dragon. "Thorolf! Gods... Everyone! Get back!" Hadvar ordered, rushing back with Haming clutched precariously in one arm and a sword in his open hand.

They ducked behind the remains of a building as the dragon tried to torch them from its position, but failing to do so and flew off. She glanced back at the inn only to see no sign of Ralof or Jarl Ulfric or anyone for that matter. "Still alive, prisoner?" Hadvar questioned when he noticed Thorain crouched behind him. "Keep close to me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense."

"Gods guide you, Hadvar," Gunnar said, tucking young Haming under his arm.

"Follow me!" Hadvar ordered, taking the lead through the burning and destroyed city. They ran along the city wall and pressed themselves against it just as the dragon landed on the wall, not noticing them.

Thorain could feel her blood pumping through her ears as the impact knocked her off her feet and into Hadvar who wrapped his arm around her chest and pulled her in tight to avoid detection from the thing from legends. The dragon took off again and Hadvar pulled her to her feet. "Come on! Quickly!"

They passed through several destroyed homes and burning walls, taking note of a few of the dead guards that littered the ground due to this dragon. "It's you and me, prisoner! Keep close!" She didn't need to be told twice. Keeping up with Hadvar was easy at this point since her lungs didn't feel like they were on fire anymore. She was more than ecstatic to see Ralof come sprinting through a destroyed portion of the wall.

"Ralof!" She called out, catching his attention.

"Ralof! You damn traitor! Out of my way!" Hadvar growled, every bit of malice and hate spewed into the words. A serious history between the two.

"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time!" Ralof shouted back.

"Fine, I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!"

"Come on, into the Keep," Ralof said over the dragon again and Thorain followed willingly while Hadvar ran off to a different portion of the Keep. She felt a little sorry for leaving Hadvar alone, but Ralof had pulled her ass out of the dragon's way. "I can cut you loose inside, come on!" Ralof exclaimed, shouldering open the Keep doors.

She slipped inside and helped him close the door behind them. There was a dead Stormcloak soldier across from the doors, heavily wounded and looking like he had just died, that he may have survived if they had gotten there only a few moments sooner. "We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother," Ralof remorsed, kneeling next to his fallen comrade. "Looks like we're the only ones who made it."

"Cut me loose, please," Thorain begged gesturing to her wrists.

"Come here," He said, standing up and pulling a small dagger from his boot. One clean cut and she was free, rubbing her wrists from the rope burn. "That thing was a dragon. No doubt. Just like the children's stories and the legends. The harbingers of the End Times."

"Great..." Thorain groaned, glancing up at several tremors that shook the Keep's very foundations.

"You may as well take Gunjar's gear. He won't be needing it anymore," Ralof said, gesturing to his fallen comrade. Thorain hesitantly took Gunjar's axe, but decided to leave him some decency by leaving his cuirass and boots on. "Aren't you going to take the armor?" He asked as she gave the waraxe a few test swings.

"I've never been one for armor. Leather, yes, chainmail, no."

They ducked out of the way of the door, hearing voices coming down the hallways. They were boxed in with no where to go so that left them little choice but to fight and maybe get the key from one of the Imperials. Lo and behold, in came the Imperial Captain that was more than content to cut off her head instead of letting her live because she wasn't on the list.

The familiar bloodlust flooded through her very senses as she struck down the Imperial Captain, feeling the whispers of her Unholy Matron in her ear as the killing hand of Sithis guided her moves. She felt at home again after nearly two years of running for her very life. She was in Skyrim in the midst of a dragon attack with a Nord who was eager to help her escape and despite everything - it was a new life. No one knew who she was, no one knew her past and no one would know lest she say anything and there was no way she was going to.

When they finally made out of the Keep and into crisp clean air, Thorain nearly sobbed for joy falling to her knees after the dragon had disappeared to roost elsewhere. Ralof laughed with joy as well, leaning against a boulder. Both were dirty, exhausted and in need of a nice warm meal and sleep.

"Come. Imperials will be swarming these hills in no time. Let's make our way to Riverwood. My sister, Gerdur, will help us."

"If that means a bed and a warm meal, you could lead me to the ends of the Tamriel for all I care."

Ralof chuckled and reassured, "Not so extreme, my friend."

He lead the way down the path, passing Skyrim's beautiful landscape that in no way reminded her of Cheydinhal. A fox ran across their path, chasing several butterflies. Ralof chatted on, giving her a brief history and the names of locations visible from their trail until they came across some tall stones with etchings inscribed on their fronts with what looked like a thief in robes, a mage and a warrior with a battleaxe.

She ran her hand over the stone with the thief etched on the front and felt a slight buzz through her fingers as the stone's magic flooded through her. "The Thief? Not too late to change your mind," Ralof said, crossing his arms. She only smiled and gestured for him to lead the way again.

Riverwood was a bit more than she expected with it's large wall with guard towers, but no guards. This town was unprotected from what she could see, but it looked peaceful as townsfolk wandered around doing their day-to-day routine. A Bosmer with a longbow and quiver of arrows walked past with an armful of wood.

A blacksmith was hard at work making several tools for various purposes. And an old woman yelled at her son that she was _adamant_ that she saw a dragon - she had no idea.

Gerdur, as she found out, was as tough as her brother, but just as kind allowing her and Ralof shelter in her home and sent her son to watch the main road so that they'd have a heads up if any Imperial soldiers came looking for them. Her husband, Hod, offered some mead that Ralof accepted, but she declined. She collapsed on the bed stuffed in the corner that served as Gerdur's son's bed, but for now it belonged to her and Ralof until further notice. She made no move when Ralof laid in open space beside her equally as exhausted. She was out like a light before anyone could voice their opinion of the two sharing the small bed.


	2. Debts to be Paid

Thorain awoke the next morning considerably sore and in desperate need of a wash. Soot and sweat clung to her like a bad smell and made her feel uncomfortable. She glanced over at a nearby dresser happy to spot the wash basin ready for her and Ralof to wash. Ralof still snored contently next to her.

A clean dress lay next to the wash basin, blue with leather corset to slim the figure. She had never been one for dresses, but it was better than the rags she currently donned. Rubbing herself down as best as she could with the given cloth and soap, she quickly threw the dress on before Ralof could wake up and see her naked. She was an assassin, not a whore (not that she was above using her natural sex appeal to lure a target to their death).

Thorain sat at the table where Gerdur had breakfast sitting out for the two of them and she munched contently on an apple while gazing into the fireplace. She had to find anyone in the Dark Brotherhood. She had to find a home again or at least make one for herself. She knew of a few Sanctuaries in Skyrim, but most were abandoned except for one place which the name escaped her since she thought she'd never come to Skyrim to remember its name. If there was one thing she knew though, it was people still perform the Black Sacrament despite most of the Brotherhood being wiped out. She'd just have to find the whispers of the Black Sacrament being performed and without a doubt she'd find her brothers and sisters.

"You're awake."

She nearly jumped out of her skin when Ralof spoke, catching her completely off guard. She was losing touch already. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and scratched absent-mindedly at his beard as he moved to the table to enjoy the breakfast his sister put out. He immediately delved into the seasoned beef like he hadn't eaten in weeks. Thorain shook her head and tossed the apple core into the fire.

Ralof was her savior, just as she was his. Now, she found a friend in the man without noticing even though her friends list strictly consisted of members of the Dark Brotherhood. This was a new life, she had to remind herself. The Dark Brotherhood was on the brink of extinction, the fate of the Night Mother was unknown and the Listener, her mother, was more than likely dead since she had heard no word of her mother in years. She prayed that her mother was safe by Sithis' side. She didn't even have a body to return to the ash.

Skyrim was a vast land from maps she had seen and what visiting assassins mentioned. Cold and harsh as it is beautiful and warm. She'd have to depend on Ralof for most of her directions for now until she can accumulate enough money to hire a carriage to take her around. Play nice until she no longer needed him so that loose ends were not a problem.

Ralof stood after he completed his breakfast and walked to the wash basin to do his own morning routine and she took that moment to leave the home so that he could have an ounce of privacy from a strangers eyes. It wouldn't be a big deal if it was Gerdur, but Thorain was a stranger that he met under circumstance. Any other reason and she wouldn't even get a glance or a 'hello'. Well, maybe she’d get a hello since he seemed like a nice person, but he’d never remember her face.

It was sunny and warm meaning they were more south in Skyrim than to the north which is said to be covered in snow. The nearby cow paid her no mind as she walked past to the nearby pathway. Gerdur and Hod were hard at work on their sawmill, but their assistant named Sven (she learned the name from an angry Bosmer elf named Faendal who then tried to get her to deliver a forged letter. She was not in the mood to cause some emotional chaos just yet) was too busy trying to write sappy love poems for a girl name Camilla.

Thinking of nothing better to do until she gets a proper idea of where she was going to go, she entered the local inn for a stiff drink and maybe a few rumors that may imply the Dark Brotherhood in some way. Talking with the inn keeper/bartender, she scored a jackpot: A young boy named Aventus Aretino in Windhelm was rumored to be performing the Black Sacrament. She could barely conceal her smile as she left the inn with a spring in her step.

"Why does a boy in Windhelm concern someone like you who just escaped execution?" Ralof caught her off guard as she rounded the corner to return to Gerdur's house. He was leaning against the side of the inn with his arms crossed over his strong chest. He was back in his Stormcloak armor and completely comfortable wearing the armor.

"Spying on me, are you? I'm all a-tingle," She said with a touch of sarcasm lacing her voice.

Ralof only smiled and shook his head. "I wouldn't go messing with the Dark Brotherhood, my friend. They're nothing but a band of cutthroats that wouldn't give a girl like you the time of day."

"What makes you think you know me?" She asked spinning on her heel to face him.

He held his hands up as a sign of peace. "I was just saying. From the way you reacted, anyone would think you were itching to join up with them. I'm only looking out for my new friend."

She shook her head and sighed. "I'm not exactly the best kind of friend you'd want, Ralof." She was being selfish, she knew that. Ralof was kind and a good man with a sense of righteous aptitude, while she was a back-stabbing assassin who definitely had issues with authority and a mild anger problem.

He never got the chance to retort for she walked off back to Gerdur's house to swipe some provisions and make haste for Windhelm. She had only a brief window of opportunity before the boy would be contacted if inn keepers are already starting to hear about it.

"You're already leaving us? You're that determined to find the Dark Brotherhood?" Ralof questioned as he noticed the pack she had slung over her shoulder and her acquired bow resting comfortable across her back with a quiver a little short on arrows than she would have liked.

Thorain unslung her pack and ran a hand through her cropped bright red hair. "I told you: I'm not the best kind of friend to have." In too deep, she realized. She let herself get comfortable with the Nord and now leaving was becoming harder. The threat of death weakened her to this. "I just need to get to Windhelm."

This is why she didn’t have much for friends outside of the Brotherhood, the occasional apothecary or botanist, but aside from ‘normal’ friends, she had none. All she had was the Dark Brotherhood and now everyone she knew was gone.

“You just escaped execution and a dragon, but if that is your wish, so be it. If you’re intent on leaving, could you at least do us a favor?” Her attention was full on Ralof. “Could you deliver a message for the Jarl? With that dragon lurking about, there is a chance Riverwood is in danger. As you can see, we don’t have much for guards of our own. Could you ask the Jarl to send some guards to help keep this village safe?”

Thorain nodded. “I can do that. I’ll consider my debt to you paid.”

“Thank you. Be safe out there, Thorain. I’d hate to hear of your demise.”

After trading some weapons for some basic leather armor (and learning a thing or two about forging daggers and the like), she was on the road before she could decide to stay without looking behind her as the village dwindled into the distance. Whiterun wasn't too far off her course for Windhelm so she would make good on Ralof’s request for it was best not to make an enemy out of the man who saved her life.

At first all she could see was trees until it opened up to miles of farmland and a calm breeze that swept her short hair askew. Sure, there were plenty of farmland around Cheydinhal, but even that wasn’t much compared to the scale of them here in Skyrim. One thing she noticed though was that there were no farmers about, that was until she looked a little further down to see a _giant_ swinging his club around at some people clad in armor.

She watched one of the group take the club to the chest and before she could realize she was moving, she was leaping over the downed armored man, skirting between the giant’s legs and leaping up its back and on to its shoulders. Drawing her bow back as far as she could, she let the arrow pierce the top of the giant’s head.

The giant faltered its swing, the club flying from its hand as it staggered. She leapt off just as the giant fell face first into the farm field. “You handle yourself well.” A woman approached her, fiery red hair dressed in armor she hadn’t seen since the time of ancient Nords. Across her face were 3 stripes of green war paint. “You could make for a decent Shield-Sister.”

“What is a Shield-Sister?” She questioned. The group looked like well-seasoned warriors with the exception of a few who looked like they hadn’t seen many battles.

“An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions? An order of warriors. We are brothers and sisters in honor. And we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough.”

Honor?

She’d be the wrong person to ask to join the Companions if joining was based on honor. She could tell looking at them that they were more of the type of warriors to charge headfirst into battle while she would dance along the sidelines and eliminate her enemies with stealth and precision maybe a bit of poison. Not that she wasn’t trained to deal with an enemy face to face. They sounded eerily familiar to the Fighters Guild that her mother had described as a bunch of hard-heads that wouldn't know the spine of a book from a block of wood. “Sounds like a waste of time,” She commented, slinging her bow over her shoulder.

“Well nobody asked you. If you think you’re better than we are, go talk to Kodlak Whitemane. See what a warrior of true mettle is like,” She snapped back at Thorain who ignored the tone.

The low groaning of pain from the armored man that was knocked down by the giant finally caught her attention again. He was being aided up by someone who looked like his slightly smaller copy. Twins, she established. The bigger twin was watching her with what she sensed was awe while the other watched her like she was the enemy. The smaller twin was in the right to be suspicious of her.

“Come on! Let’s head back,” the woman called out, taking the lead. Another of the companions moved to assist with the bigger twin’s movement.

Thorain waited by the dead giant just long enough to avoid walking into the city with the group of Companions. She didn’t need the unnecessary distraction.

Whiterun was different than she expected after getting haggled by the guards at the gate. With how easy she got through, almost anyone screaming about a dragon could get into the city making an assassination easy picking and be gone before anyone was the wiser.

She easily could see the trading community on Whiterun with a smithy right next to the bridge leading from the gate. Anyone needing to unload their pack could easily get some coin from the woman working the forge. Further along was a solitary house between the smithy and a general store that looked oddly empty for a bustling town. The town square was littered with shopkeepers and residents alike, some calling out their wares while others gossiped back and forth about the goings in the city.

From what she could catch, there was apparently a rivalry between two major families in the city. Boring, political bullshit was her opinion. She wouldn’t be surprised if the Brotherhood had been contacted for an assassination or two amongst the families.

She passed a large decaying tree in the middle of a rotunda, a statue of Talos stood not to far from that with a man howling out things about Talos and his undying worship of the God. Most ignored his bleating, while a few bored passersby sat and listened. A young girl sat on a bench next to the decaying tree, holding out her hand a begging for a coin or food. Thorain felt obliged to give her a few septims which she earned a hurried “thank you!” before the child rushed off to the food stand down the stairs to purchased a piece of bread.

The building to her right caught her attention since it looked older than the rest of the buildings around it. A priestess passed her by and she caught her elbow pointing up at the building. “What’s that?”

The priestess of Arkay glanced up and glowered, “That’s the mead hall of the Companions: Jorrvaskr.”

“I take it you don’t like them?”

“Not in the least. They’re loud and they’re constantly getting hurt taking up much of my time from other patient and drink way too much. Personally, I’m surprised they’re not dead from their destroyed livers already,” The priestess ranted before Thorain released her elbow.

Mystery of the building solved and sorted into “places _not_ to go”.

Thorain continued on to the Keep at the highest point of Whiterun. Pools of water ran along both sides of her as she walked up the stairs and pathways to the Keep. At the top she was accosted by a young warrior in armor similar to the Imperials and questioned on whether she was with the Gray-Manes or the Battle-Borns. She was tempted to shove him over the side into the pools of water below and watch him drown as his armor held him down.

Instead of having every guard chasing her down for murder, she pushed him out of her way and continued into the Keep. Snotty noble men were normally on her assassination contracts brought on by a jilted spouse or rival family. Two guards standing by the door ignored her as she shouldered open doors big enough for an average giant to pass through without ducking.

Inside was what she would picture: large, decorated columns lined the walkway to the stairs that took her to an elevated floor where a grand table with enough seats to comfortably host a rather large party awaited those who entered. She walked up the stairs (already pinpointing areas any assassin with half a brain cell could easily shoot the Jarl with a well aimed arrow) making it almost to the hearth in the center of the place before being threatened once again by a rather agitated Dunmer in leather armor similar to herself and red hair as bright as her own symbolizing that they were from the same clan should they have been back in Morrowind. Behind her, she could see the Jarl and an adviser arguing back and forth.

“What is the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors,” She said with an air of authority.

Thorain tended to have an issue with authority, but kept her mouth shut about the matter. “I have news from Helgen. About the dragon attack,” Thorain informed, mildly annoyed that she kept getting stopped by everyone thinking she was a threat (not that she wasn’t, but not at that moment).

“Well, that explains why the guards let you in. Come on then, the Jarl will want to speak with you personally,” The Dunmer recanted. Only a few steps brought her before the Jarl: and man who looked like he had seen battle, but still held a gentle air about him and a caring nature.

“So, you were at Helgen,” Jarl Balgruuf spoke having overheard Thorain’s and the Dunmer’s exchange. “You saw this dragon with your own eyes?”

“Yes. I have a great view while the Imperials were trying to cut off my head.” The remark was mostly unnecessary, but she was a bit pissed about that.

“Really? You’re certainly… forthright about your criminal past. But it’s none of my concern who the Imperials want to execute. Especially now. What I want to know is what exactly happened at Helgen.”

“The dragon destroyed Helgen. And last I saw it was heading this way.”

“By Ysmir, Irileth was right.” The Jarl looked to the well dressed man standing to his right. “What do you say now, Proventius? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?”

“My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It’s in the most immediate danger. If that dragon is lurking in the mountains…”

“The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He’ll assume we’re preparing to join Ulfric’s side and attack him. We should-“

“Enough!” Jarl Balgruuf interrupted his adviser’s protests. “I will not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!” This surprised Thorain: a leader who actually _cares_ about his people. “Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once.”

“Yes, my lord,” Irileth responded, leaving swiftly to gather troops to send to Riverwood.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to my duties,” Proventius said, bowing politely to the Jarl.

“That would be best.” Thorain could almost picture the axe hanging over Proventius’ neck for daring to think that they shouldn’t defend Riverwood. His attention returned to Thorain who quite wanted to leave at this point. “Well done. You sought me out on your own initiative.” She said nothing about doing this for Ralof because she felt like she owed him. “You’ve done Whiterun a service and I won’t forget it.” She hoped he would. “Here, take this as a token of my esteem.” He gestured for one of his guards to step forward with a box. Inside was a set of studded armor that would suit her more nicely than the leather armor she currently wore. “There is another thing you could do for me,” He pondered carefully. Thorain prayed he’d stop there, but he didn’t. “Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps.”

The Jarl stood up from his throne. “Come, let’s go find Farengar, my court wizard. He’s been looking into a matter related to these dragons and rumors of dragons.” Reluctantly she followed the honorable Jarl to an open doorway to the right of the main hall where a man in robes was hunched over endless amounts of papers with different writings and scribbles decorating them along with charts and maps.

“Farengar, I think I found someone who can help with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill him in with all the details.”

“So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me,” Farengar addressed Thorain with disinterest probably thinking she was just another mercenary. “Oh yes, he must mean my research in the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me.”

He went on to explain something about a stone table that may or may not be in an ancient ruin and the potential dangers. The ruins were Bleak Falls Barrow that Ralof had pointed out after they escaped Helgen. So back to Riverwood where she could potentially face Ralof again. She dreaded coming here.

She decided to write the information in a small writing book she purchased from a local shop after she left the Keep since her last book was lost to the Imperials. Bet they would enjoy _that_ read since it held the information of assassinated men and women and how the deeds would be performed along with extensive notes on the layouts of the areas and how she would go about getting close or within range for an arrow to the throat. Unless it burned up in Helgen or was in the belly of a fire-breathing dragon – either way.

The sun was staring to set on her rather long day and traveling would be dangerous enough even if she was wide awake. Falling asleep in the wilderness was not something she was prepared to do, nor did she have the proper supplies for it. Instead, she opted to purchase a room at the local inn: The Bannered Mare. The barkeep was pleasant enough, tough like she’d come to expect of Nord women.

Thorain settled for a dinner of seasoned beef and some ale when the door to the Bannered Mare was thrown open and in walked the same group of Companions she met earlier. “Great…” She muttered, trying her best to ignore them and finish her meal some Redguard woman handed her. The seat across from her was pulled out and the larger twin sat down without so much as in invitation.

“Can I help you?” She asked with a bit of malice in her tone. She was not in the mood for a bunch of rowdy warriors bothering her before she could get a decent night sleep.

“I wanted to know your name,” The larger twin answered, smiling politely.

“My name is none of your business, Companion.”

“I’m Farkas.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance. Now, can I enjoy my meal before I go to bed?”

“Can I have the honor of knowing your name first?” She stayed silent and tried her best to ignore the large man sitting across from her, but she could feel him staring at her, waiting for an answer.

She sighed in defeat and asked, “If I tell you my name, will you leave me be?”

“Yes.”

“Thorain.”

“You fight well, Thorain. We’d love to have you in the Companions.”

“As I told the other woman, it sounds like a waste of my time. Besides, I don’t have an honorable life and I would not be an excellent Companion. I’m not like you.”

“I may not be that smart, but even I know a warrior when I see one.” 

“Then you are blind.” She stood up and left her plate where the Redguard woman could collect it later.

Why couldn't people just leave her alone? She made a mistake letting Ralof in too much and she was adamant she wasn't going to make the same mistake only for this Companion to try and sneak his way in. Try all he’d like, she wasn’t going to join the Companions.

“What does that mean?” Farkas questioned, standing up with her.

“I thought you said you’d leave me alone?” She questioned spinning sharply on him.

“What does that mean?” He repeated, crossing his arms. He wanted a reason as to why she wouldn't join?

“Because I’m the dirty little secret nobles love to exploit for coin,” She answered cryptically before turning her back to him and leaving him bewildered with the statement. Skyrim was proving to be more a pain that she realized. Under the beautiful scenery and landscape were people hell-bent on making her life difficult by constantly harassing her. It would all be better once she found the Brotherhood again.

The next morning, she was up bright and early, changing into her newly acquired armor from the Jarl, she made off for Windhelm with new supplies purchased from the general goods store with more coin weighing down her bundle that she kept stuffed in her cleavage making it difficult for thieves to pickpocket.

She found herself alone with her thoughts walking the vast forests and endless streams. Elk and deer darted from view along with other small animals like rabbits. Skyrim was beautiful, nothing like Cyrodiil especially after the Oblivion Crisis (that her mother was a part of aiding the nervous priest-turned-emperor Martin Septim. She and him apparently became good friends and she was torn apart when he died). She was born shortly after the incident, her mother having been 3 months along when it occurred.

Thorain walked without being harassed by bandits or highwaymen before she decided to make a small camp, setting her pack up against a tree so that her back wouldn't be exposed. Her fire was small, not large enough to give off a lot of light, but enough to keep her warm in Skyrim's cold nights.

She tore off a piece of bread for a small meal to quell her grumbling stomach before settling against the tree for the night, falling into a light sleep.


	3. Sins of the Unworthy

By the time Thorain reached Windhelm, she was wrapped in most of her furs and dying for a warm fire. Being in the warmer parts of Skyrim, she had forgotten about the descriptions of the northern half: Cold, bitter and a very short summer period. Azura’s Might if she travels to Winterhold...

Snow crunched under her feet as she passed the stables where a young man attended to the horses without so much as a long sleeve shirt on. “Nords,” she had to remind herself. Windhelm was more fortified for a frontal attack than Whiterun was, having multiple stone arches with sealable doors with numerous guards above each arch ready for an attack and the order to seal the gates. The stable boy was a dead man, but at least the rest of the city would be relatively fine until an enemy broke through.

Entering into the city, she could see a Dunmer woman being harassed by a few Nords accusing her of being an Imperial spy. She found it humorous that they would think so since she was the bigger threat than that woman. The woman didn’t even carry a knife on her for crying out loud.

Directly in front of her was a welcomed sight: An inn called the Candlehearth Hall which she quickly entered. She sighed in relief at the warmth enveloping her once again as she paid for a room for the night. Enough time to find Aventus Aretino and find the Dark Brotherhood.

It didn’t take her long to find the house of Aventus Arentino after overhearing a Dunmer and a young boy converse over the matter. The young boy even pointed out the house Aventus lived in.

Picking the lock was easy and she quietly made her way inside, her footsteps not daring to make a sound. “Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send your child unto me…” She heard a young boy saying along with the soft tapping of a knife striking against wood. The boy indeed was performing the Black Sacrament. “…for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear… Grelod! You old crone! You’ll get what you deserve! The Dark Brotherhood will see to that!”

Rounding the corner at the top of the stairs, she could see young Aventus kneeling over the skeletal remains of a person along with their heart and flesh as is required of the ritual and the arch of candles. “And a child the sweet Mother will send,” Thorain said out of habit.

“Finally!” The boy sprang up at her voice and spun around. “My prayers have been answered! It worked! I knew you’d come, I just knew it! I did the Black Sacrament, over and over. With the body, and the… the things. And then you came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood!” From his excitement she could tell that she had beaten her brothers and sisters to this child.

“Quiet, child,” She lightly scolded. "Who do you need to die?”

The child’s excitement seemed to drop at that, like a bad memory weaseling its way into his emotions. “My mother, she… she died. I… I’m all alone now. So they sent me to that terrible orphanage in Riften. Honorhall,” He explained. “The headmistress is an evil, cruel woman. They call her Grelod the Kind. But she’s not kind. She’s terrible! To all of us. So I ran away, and came home. And performed the Black Sacrament. Now you’re here! And you can kill Grelod the Kind!”

She smiled at his enthusiasm over someone’s death. She was raised in this lifestyle, so she could understand the idea of taking someone’s life into your hands and snuffing it. Now she felt home, with a contract made and a death awaiting her blade. She had several ideas of how to kill the miserable old woman described to her by Aventus: she could slit her neck enough not to kill her instantly but to watch her bleed out or she could slip poison into the old bat’s tea. The possibilities were endless and she had until Riften to think of it.

Leaving the boy’s abandoned home, she breathed in deep of the crisp cold air of Windhelm, a newfound happiness making its way into her mind. All she had to do now was perform the contract and her brothers and sisters of Sithis would find her within due time.

"All vermin! The lot o' ya!" She glanced over at a drunken man staggering down the path toward the Grey Quarter (she learned the name from the Candlehearth innkeeper).

Following him, she became witness to him grabbing a young Dunmer woman by the arm, screaming in her face accusing her of being an Imperial spy and that they didn't belong here. "Hey!" She called out before she could stop herself. The drunkard turned his attention on her, dropping the Dunmer woman who took off into a store to protect herself. "You need to leave them alone."

"Who's gonna make me?!" The Nord bellowed, staggering in place.

She rolled her eyes and in a flash grabbed him by the collar, jerked him forward straight into her oncoming fist, knocking him right out. She shook her head at the slob knocked out at her feet. Windhelm wasn't exactly turning out how she imagined.

Leaving the man where he lie, she made her way back to Candlehearth Hall, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to keep warm. Glancing at the Keep, she remembered Ralof's inquiry of her joining up with the Stormcloaks, but she brushed him off since fighting in an army wouldn't suit her abilities. Pretty sure soldiers didn't kill people with poison and getting involved in a civil war would interfere with her job since often times it was the leaders in these wars that called upon the Dark Brotherhood to kill military leaders and cause turmoil amongst the ranks.

"Speak to Ulfric Stormcloak," She muttered, shaking her head. "These people are insane and they trust way too easily."

Entering Candlehearth Hall, she bought herself a meal and sat by the warm hearth, letting the heat sink in to her cold skin. She looked at the candle that had been burning for hundreds of years (honestly she thinks the innkeeper just switched out the candles every time it got low). The story was enchanting, but just that: a story.

Pushing her empty plate away, she leaned back in her chair and opened her notebook, writing down the details needed for the assassination she was about to perform. And there was no way she was _walking_ to Riften in this cold. She remembered seeing a carriage outside, possibly one she could hire to take her to Riften.

* * *

She hopped off the back of the carriage tossing the amount of coin that he requested for the ride. "Have a good day," the driver called back to her.

The walls weren't as large as Windhelm's or Whiterun's but they'd do their job. She walked up to the gate, giving a small nod to the guards. "Hold there," One said, gesturing to her to stop.

"Is there a problem?" She asked.

"Before I let you into Riften, you need to pay the visitor's tax."

"What's the tax for?"

"For the privilege of entering the city. What does it matter?"

She let out a disbelieving laugh and crossed her arms. She had heard from the carriage driver that Riften was rife with thieves and more importantly the Thieves Guild. "This obviously a shakedown."

The guard jolted back like he had been shocked. "A-All right, keep your voice down... you want everyone to hear you? I'll let you in; just let me unlock the gate." The guard shook his head and quickly unlocked the gate. "Gate's unlocked. Head inside when you're ready."

She shook her head at the guard's pathetic attempt at a shakedown. Who trained these guys? She pushed the gates open to the city built over the water. She passed a couple arguing about the Thieves Guild, the woman determined to 'save this city'. If this Thieves Guild was anything like the one Thorain's mother was a part of then this city was already a lost cause. But the guard was so poorly trained to shakedown someone that it was almost tragic. The Thieves Guild must be desperate.

Asking an Argonian who obviously was going through skooma withdrawals directed her toward Honorhall Orphanage was given a coin purse for silence. "Never done an honest day's work in your life for all that coin you're carrying, eh lass?" An auburn haired Nord caught her attention. Dressed in a fancy getup, everything about him was summed up in two words: professional liar. Even more so: Thief.

"I'm sorry, what?" I played the dumb girl.

"I'm saying you've got the coin, but you didn't earn a septim of it honestly. I can tell."

"You could also tell that to the Imperials whose armor I sold for it. Regardless, how could you possibly know that?"

"It's all about sizing up your mark, lass," He briefly explained. "The way they walk, what they're wearing. It's a dead giveaway."

"And what does my 'walk' and what I'm wearing say about me?"

"That's for me to know an' for you ta find out should you agree to help me, lass."

"And if I already know how to do it? For starters, you're dressed fancy, like a merchant trying to make an impression, but the thin knife pressed against your leg says someone who is prepared for anything. Not a merchant, but someone with quick reflexes and fingers. Someone more inclined to swipe your pocket or cut your purse."

The man crossed his arms, looking mildly impressed. "And I'm guessin' you're someone who learns to watch and wait."

She smirked and patted his shoulder. "Oh, and if you could give me back my coin purse, that would be great." She held out her hand. The man chuckled and deposited the swiped coin purse into her palm. “Sizing up your mark by already stealing their coin purse. Slick.”

"We could use someone like you. Just got to prove your mettle."

"Funny. I'm in Skyrim for nearly two weeks and I've been given the offer to join two factions. First a group of drunks who call themselves the Companions and now a thief who is obviously down on his luck seeing as the guards at the gate are terrible at shaking down people and the fact that only one of them joined in and not the other means the one who shook me down is probably on your rather crap payroll. Troubles in paradise?"

The man crossed his arms and said, “With someone like you, our bout of bad luck might be turned around.”

Thorain smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

“If you can get through the Ratway and find us, I’m sure we’ll have a place for you.”

“Can I get a name, stranger?”

The thief smiled. “Brynjolf.”

“Thorain. Maybe I’ll see you soon.” She gave him a brief two fingered salute and wandered off toward her original destination of Honorhall Orphanage.

Pushing open the doors, she could hear an elderly woman addressing someone, probably the children, “-Those who shirk their duties will get an extra beating. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Grelod…” The children responded. There were 4 of them, not as many as she pictured, but of course Honorhall wasn’t that big either.

“One more thing! I will hear no more talk of adoptions! None of you riff-raff is getting adopted. Ever! Nobody needs you, nobody wants you.” Thorain couldn’t believe her ears. Listening to this woman made killing her all the more easier to do. “That, my darlings, is why you’re here. Why you will always be here, until you come of age and get thrown into the wide, horrible world! Now what do you all say?”

“We love you, Grelod. Thank you for your kindness,” The children forced themselves to say, like it was almost painful. The assistant stood not far from them, watching the spectacle with a worried look to her. It would appear that this young woman was the only one who cared about the children.

“That’s better. Now scurry off, my little guttersnipes.”

Thorain waited until Grelod walked into the room in the far back, more than likely her bedroom before entering the room with children’s beds lining the walls. “Please, miss,” A young girl begged her. “You got to get me out of here! Ever since Aventus left, Grelod’s been even meaner than usual. I swear, she’s going to kill one of us.”

She put on a smile for the child. “Don’t worry; I’ll have a nice _chat_ with Grelod the Kind. Don’t you fret.” Lightly patting the young girl’s head, she followed Grelod into the back room.

“What do you want?” The old crone grunted out. “You have no business being in here.”  
  
Thorain only smiled. “Aventus says hello.”

“What?”

Within seconds, she crossed the short distance between us and stabbed a dagger into her throat to silence her eventual screams and ending her life quickly. It was the thud of her body dropping to the ground that alerted the kids and the assistant on the other side. The children came running in, cheering over the fact that Grelod was dead. One of the boys even hugged Thorain’s legs, thanking her over and over again.

Walking past the terrified young woman still screaming about sparing her life, Thorain left the orphanage. Her first human life taken since she arrived in Skyrim and her nerves felt calm again. Not only that, but now the Dark Brotherhood was sure to seek her out and she would be amongst family again.

She had to bide her time until they found her.

Thorain was out of town before they found the body, enjoying the warm weather before she had to head back to Windhelm to collect her reward (not that she was looking forward to the cold temperatures). On her mind was the matter of the dragon tablet Farengar wanted her to go collect.

From her map (stolen from a store called the Pawned Prawn), it was about a 3 day journey through a mountain pass that would allow her to bypass Riverwood. It also brought her past a place called Orphan Rock which was marked with a small red inked 'x' meaning it was a dangerous place and the path she would take within a hundred feet of it.

When the sun started to set beyond the Throat of the World (she mentally questioned who in the world came up with that name), she settled down in an alcove, starting a small fire to keep the night cold off her. She lay on her side using her cloak as a pillow, watching the flames dance across the firewood she collected as a way to lull herself to sleep.

A soft crack of a twig snapping alerted her, her eyes snapping to where she heard the sound. Her hand slipped under her cloak to the knife she kept hidden underneath for easy access. Thorain waited patiently for whatever made that noise.

Through the trees and brush surrounding the alcove, a figure emerged along with a soft hissing, much like an animal. Not an animal though for the figure was standing like a regular person. The person rounded the fire, footsteps nearly soundless until they hovered over her figure. She could hear them kneeling behind her. The moment the person's hand touched her shoulder, she grabbed their arm and slammed them right into the fire. The person - a woman from the screaming - seemed to burn faster than the average human and a flash of fangs revealed their true colors: Vampire.

She watched the person burn to a crisp, the ripe smell of burning flesh stinging her nose. The screaming finally ceased and it was quiet once again with only the crackling of the fire and the popping of flesh. “Skyrim’s got dragons, thieves, assassins, marauders and now: vampires. Next they’ll be telling me werewolves also run rampant here,” She grumbled to herself, settling herself back into her spot for a little more rest, using the body in the fire as a way to keep others at bay with the pungent smell.

The morning brought a chill and the lovely view of the charred corpse that finished burning sometime during the night. Jerky for the wolves, she mildly joked packing up her things to continue her journey for Bleak Falls Barrow.

* * *

Thorain cursed Skyrim’s cold weather as once again she was wrapped in a fur cloak, scaling the side of a mountain to get to the Barrow. “Damn dragonstone… Damn Farengar… Damn dragons…” She angrily growled to herself as she nearly slipped on yet another ice patch.

The Barrow finally came into view and she just about lost her breath. Even in it’s state, it was still magnificent to see just how much of the place still stood even with the great stone arches and buttresses. The highest peak of the mountain was visible from where she stood along with what looked like a fortress at the top. She gave credit to Nord crafting: they were built to last.

Approaching the stairs, she crouched as an arrow skidded across her pauldron – a piss poor shot. “You puny weakling!” And Orc shouted, running down the stairs at her while two others stood at the top firing arrows at her.

Ducking from the Orc’s wild swing of his battle axe, her knives were out and slicing across the Orc’s stomach. He barely flinched and swung his axe backwards toward her position. She fell to her back and rolled out of the way, dodging arrows that imbedded in the ground where she previously stood.

Using the ice to her advantage, she slid in close to the Orc and stabbed both of her knives into his stomach, pulling them in opposite directions to effectively gut the bandit. Using her shoulder to push the Orc over, she pulled her bow off her back and notched an arrow.

The first arrow pierced the skull of the Breton archer and the other looked on in fear as she was the last one standing. She looked back down at Thorain before deciding this wasn’t worth her life, scrambling away.

“Oh no you don’t!” Thorain shouted, running up the stairs and sticking another arrow in the woman’s back. The bandit’s skull cracked against the stone ground and was dead in seconds. She looted what she could off their bodies, mostly taking their gold and the arrows left over from the archers along with one of the archer’s boots that was better equipped for the snowy terrain.

The temple fared as well as the outside, along with even more bandits inside which were easily dispatched like the ones outside, but these whispered about a stolen golden claw a Dunmer had taken possession of. Pockets looted, she moved on swatting spider webs out of her face. Candles scattered around lit her way (mostly) and her annoyance peaked when she came across the first of many puzzles which she solved quickly (how hard is it to turn the pillars so that it showed two snakes and a whale?).

The spider webs got thicker as she passed, putting her more on alert. If there was one thing she hated it was spiders. Faintly she could hear someone shouting for help which drove her forward quicker than her original pace. Cutting spider webs from a doorway, she entered a small atrium and at the far end of the room was a man trapped in the thick of the webs screaming for help.

Thorain walked closer to him to release him when her path was blocked from a giant Frostbite Spider dropping from the ceiling. “Spiders… Why does it have to be spiders?” She questioned herself, pulling her daggers out. The spider lunged at her and she skirted out of its range, noting a rather large wound on its stomach, probably inflicted from the man trapped in the webs.

“Kill it!” The man shouted hysterically, making her shake her head. Like she was going to let this thing eat her.

It lunged again and she deterred it by slicing its mandible, earning a screeching sound from it. Sprinting around to its side, she cut at the beast’s legs, staggering it and slowing it down considerably. Slowing it down, but not affecting its aim as it swung around and nailed her with a ball of webs wrapping around her like a rope. “Shit!” She cursed when the blow knocked her off balance. She sawed at the webs frantically as the spider crawled over to her, clicking its mandibles at its prize.

Thorain’s arms finally fell free and she stabbed up into the wound, causing the creature she shitter and screech until it finally collapsed dead on top of her.

Grunting, she crawled out from under the spider, shivering in disgust at the green colored blood covering her arms. “Why do I agree to these things?” She questioned herself.

“Help me down from here!” The man – a Dunmer – trapped in the webs shouted, reminding her that he was still here. She walked over to him and looked for a way to cut him down easier. “You did it. You killed it. Now cut me down before anything else shows up.”

“Where’s the golden claw?” She asked glancing around at his person for any sign of the golden claw.

“Yes, the claw! I know how it works. The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories, I know how they all fit together! Help me down, and I’ll show you. You won’t believe the power the Nords have hidden there.”

“Fine. Let me see if I can cut you down.”

“Hurry!”

Stabbing her dagger into the webs, she cut away at the webs securing the Dunmer – Arvel the Swift – until he finally fell to the ground. He took off running shouting behind him, “You fool, why should I share the treasure with anyone?!”

Flipping the knife around until she was holding the blade, she threw it directly into Arvel’s back, severing nerves in his spinal cord and leaving him paralyzed. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!”

“Relax, you’re not dead yet,” Thorain sighed walking over to the downed Dunmer. “You were in the right mind to not share the treasure with anyone. After all, you’re the one who stole the claw in the first place.” She checked his pack and retrieved the golden claw. “You just had the misfortune to try and double cross a trained assassin with wicked aim.”

“A-Assassin? Like the Dark-“

“Like the Dark Brotherhood. Also unfortunate for you, that I don’t leave loose ends if I can help it. Good bye.”

“Wait, wait, wai-” She jerked his head up and slit his throat, ending his miserable life.

“Arvel the Swift. Not swift enough,” She scoffed leaving his corpse for the spiders.

Her battle wasn’t over as the undead rose from their final resting places. “Undead. Skyrim has the undead. Werewolves might not be that unbelievable at this point.” She bypassed a few and let a swinging trap take out several.

Swinging axes took out the rest.

A room with a waterfall was at the end of her path, finding the rest of the way blocked by heavy boulders. One last Draugr popped out of its coffin before she was left to try and find another way to this dragonstone. The waterfall trailed out past and iron gate blocked path and to her delight, a chain to release the gate’s locks.

Glowing mushrooms became her light source. More Draugr dotted her way, all easy to take down (one she pushed off a ledge and the fall killed it) until she finally came to the Sanctum and more importantly: the puzzle door the claw belonged to. She looked at the claw and found animals, matching the ones on the door inscribed on the palm of the claw.

“Here goes nothing,” She said as she aligned the rotating rings to match the ones on the claw and pressed it into the indents.

Giving it a twist, the door slid open revealing the stairs to the last inner sanctum and a magnificent wall with strange etchings. Approaching the wall, she felt a buzzing under her skin as one of the words seemed to call to her and for just a moment she felt like she could understand the word, like looking through someone else’s eyes. “Fus…” She muttered. “Force? Unrelenting force…”

The lid of the coffin behind her popped off and another Draugr climbed out, but this one seemed different than the rest, more powerful. And Overlord. “Well shit…”

She ducked under its battle axe, slicing at it’s wrist knocking the battle axe out of its hand. It was a short-lived victory as the Draugr tackled her to the floor, pinning her and knocking her knives out of range. She could see the dragonstone attached to its back as it tried to strangle her with its boney hands. Getting a knee between her and the Draugr, she pushed up hard, sending it into the Word Wall behind her. It slid down and broke its neck when its head hit the floor hard.

Staggering to her feet, she touched her throat with the gentlest of touches, knowing there would be bruises later. She collected the dragonstone from its back and examined it closely. “A map?” She questioned, noting the numerous ‘x’ marks scattered around the tablet. “Why would Farengar need this?”

Walking up the nearby path, she breathed in a sigh of relief as she found herself outside once again, happy to be out of the dingy cavern.

Dragonstone in tow, she made her way back to Whiterun to be rid of the damn thing and say that she did something to help toward the dragon menace.

If only it was so easy.


	4. Taking Care of Business

Thorain slammed the tablet on the table in front of Farengar and an unknown stranger, startling the both of them. "Here's your stupid tablet," She said, placing her hands on the desk in front of the stranger. The stranger in question was hovering over a map of Skyrim and chose to wear their hood inside, automatically bringing up distrust within Thorain.

"Ah! The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way."

"'Usual brutes'?" She was genuinely offended. How dare he compare her to the mercenaries that couldn't tell the difference between their heads and their bums! She sighed angrily and asked, "What about my reward?"

"You'll have to see the Jarl about that. Maybe his steward, Avenicci. I'm sure one of them will pay you appropriately. My... associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me."

Any who knew about the dragons as much as the woman supposedly did either were the relative of a Blade or the remnants that her mother spoke of that fell apart after the death of Martin Septim and when the Thalmor stepped in.

Farengar turned to his associate. "So your information was correct after all. And we have our friend here to thank for recovering it for us."

"You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Nice work." Thorain realized the woman had addressed her. "Just send me a copy when you've deciphered it."

"Farengar!" Irileth shouted rushing into the room. "Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon's been sighted nearby."

She shrugged and started to leave only to be stopped by Irileth. "You should come, too." She knew she wouldn't get far with a dragon lurking about so she followed Irileth.

"A dragon! How exciting!" The mage, a lunatic she now realized, exclaimed, "Where was it seen? What was it doing?"

"I'd take this a bit more seriously if I were you. If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun I don't know if we can stop it." Irileth sounded grave compared to her strong tone earlier. They all walked up the stairs to where Jarl Balgruuf was waiting for them with a young guard who looked like he ran for hours.

"So, Irileth tells me you came from the western watchtower?" He asked the young guard once they all gathered in the war room.

"Yes, my lord."

Irileth commanded, "Tell him what you told me. About the dragon." Thorain leaned against the nearby table with a map of Skryim stretched out across it with various flags marking the holds held by the Stormcloaks and the holds held by the Imperials.

"Uh... that's right. We saw it coming from the south. It was fast... faster than anything I've ever seen." Thorain flicked a few of the flags over absentmindedly.

"What did it do? Is it attacking the watchtower?" Jarl Balgruuf questioned. Thorain picked up a flag and played with the frays.

"No, my lord. It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life... I thought it would come after me for sure."

"Good work, son. We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it." Once again, the generosity of the Jarl became apparent. Thorain gave a small start when the flag snapped off the little stick it was mounted to. She looked at the three people in the room to see if they noticed, deciding that they didn't. "Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there." The guard left to do as his Jarl said to get some rest.

"I've already ordered my men to muster near the main gate."

"Good. Don't fail me." Jarl Balgruuf turned his attention to Thorain trying to put the tiny flag back together. "There's no time to stand on ceremony, my friend. I need your help again." Thorain cocked an eyebrow. "I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon."

The flag ended up in more pieces than it was originally broken in to. "Are you out of your mind?!"

The Jarl took her exclamation in stride. "You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here."

"With my wrists tied together, scared out of my wits, running like Molag Bal was on my ass!"

"Regardless, they could use your expertise. But I haven't forgotten the service you did for me in retrieving the Dragonstone for Farengar."

"This conversation is feeling very one-sided."

"As a token of my esteem, I have instructed Avenicci that you are now permitted to purchase property in the city. And please, accept this gift from my personal armory." He gently moved her aside and opened the chest under the table and retrieved a shield emblazoned with enchantments meant to hold off the magic of mages. A shield that protected against mage's magic would do little against that of a fire-breathing dragon.

"I should come along. I would very much like to see this dragon." Farengar was downright giddy at the thought of seeing a dragon.

"No. I can't afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these dragons."

Thorain shoved past the court mage following Irileth down the stairs, one last call of sentimental caution from the Jarl. They joined the men Irileth already gathered at the gates. Thorain cared less for her motivational speech to her men. She counted her arrows and unstrung and restrung her bow.

The guards cheering gained her attention again as they took off running for the gate. "We're going to die..." Thorain groaned, following after them regardless.

It was a run across the vast lands of Whiterun Hold towards the western watchtower where the dragon was said to be flying overhead. Many didn't expect to see the watchtower in shambles when they arrived, barely 2 stories of the tower standing and fires dotted the grass around them. "No sign of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like he's been here." Irileth then addressed her men, "I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened. And if the dragon is still skulking around somewhere. Spread out and look for survivors. We need to know what we're dealing with."

The group (including the hesitant assassin) wandered their way into the wreckage. A survivor rushed across the dilapidated stairs shouting, "NO! Get back! It's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tar just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!" There was a loud roar, just like the one she had heard when her head was laid across a chopping block. "Kynareth save us, here he comes again!"

The dragon seemed to swoop in faster than she could register, powerful wings pushing gusts of wind past the survivors and Irileth's men. Thorain's short red hair blew around her eyes. This dragon's hide though was not blackened like the dragon at Helgen. The dragon circled, screeching fire down on any poor guard that was in its line of path. She launched arrow after arrow into its tough hide.

A guard shoved her aside just as the dragon snapped its powerful jaws down, killing the man instantly. She pressed her back to a piece of the tower's wall as the flames shot past, her skin warming up and sweating in the heat of the inferno.

Thorain dashed out from the cover of the broken wall towards the entrance of the remaining tower. She shoved past terrified guards and up the staircase, ascending until she was standing on the ‘roof’, bow notched with an arrow pointed at the flying beast.

Before she knew it, her quiver was empty and she was left with her knives to take on this huge lizard. The dragon stared her down and in a last ditch effort of a dead woman, she charged, dodging its powerful jaws in favor of leaping upon its neck. Clenching her thighs tightly around the beast's neck, she drove her daggers where the neck met its skull, twisting and digging as the dragon screeched and thrashed in a desperate attempt to throw her off. She held fast, her thighs starting to ache and her hands so tight around the pommel of her daggers they nearly cut into her flesh.

Finally, the dragon's head slammed against the ground dead and that was what sent Thorain flying to the ground knocking the wind out of her. Two guards pulled her to her feet and supported her while she got her breath back. To their surprise, the dragon's hide started to peel apart and burn like someone had lit it on fire.

A power burst from the dragon and slammed into Thorain, staggering her and the two guards holding her up. "What the hell was that?" She gasped, clutching her chest where the power settled.

The word she learned from the Word Wall bubbled up into her throat and she had almost no choice but to call, " _FUS!"_ and accidentally sending a poor guard caught in the burst of power flying into his companion.

The remaining guards of the dragon attack called her 'Dragonborn'. Thorain was about to call for a healer after she calmed her panic attack. The last Dragonborn died with Martin Septim. There was no way she was the Dragonborn. That was one of the reasons her mother disappeared from every day society into the familiar world of the Dark Brotherhood and the Black Hand - the reason being that everyone thought Thorain was the illegitimate daughter of Martin Septim since he and her mother were close friends. Her mother knew who the father was though and was adamant that it was _not_ Martin Septim.

Irileth mentioned something about her going to Jarl Balgruuf and reporting what had happened here but just as she was going to tell the Dunmer to shove it, a loud shout ripped through the Hold stronger than any thunder blast, " _DOVAHKIIN!"_

“What the hell was _that_?!” Thorain felt herself repeating.

“The Greybeards… So it must be true.” Several guards whispered amongst themselves at the prospect of the Dragonborn and Thorain was quick to retreat to the nearest carriage driver and escape to Windhelm to collect her reward and get far away from crazy Nords calling her the Dragonborn.

She collected her belongings from her inn room and left in a hurry before the news could spread that she was the Dragonborn. She shoved her way past Alik'r warriors being accosted at the front gate and only stopped to buy some supplies from the camping Khajiit nearby (including some skooma that she used to bribe a few key officials in her assassinations) and rushed to a carriage driver about to leave to see if he could find work in another city. "Take me to Windhelm," She demanded, tossing quite a few septims into his hand.

* * *

The Aretino residence was quiet and it wasn't long before she found the child curled up in the largest bed of the home. Probably his parents' bed. It was obvious the boy had been crying, still hurting from the death of his mother.

Her heart gave a small twist thinking of this child all alone, but she quickly suppressed it. She knelt by the side of the bed and lightly touched the boy's hair, waking him up with the simple touch. "...mom..." He muttered before rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Aventus' eyes fell when he realized she wasn't his mother. Then he remembered who she was and sprung up. "Well Grelod the Kind... Is she... you know?"

"Grelod the Kind is dead."

"Aha! I knew you could do it! I just knew it! I knew the Dark Brotherhood would save me!" He shot off the bed to a rather decorated plate. "Here, just as I promised. This should fetch you a nice price." He pressed the plate into her hands. "Thank you. Thank you again."

"What are you going to do now?" She was genuinely curious.

He shrugged. "Probably go back to the Orphanage. Constance will probably be taking over. I always liked her. She was nice to us."

She left it at that before her bleeding heart felt the need to take this child in. Leaving the Aretino Residence with a newfound hope of gaining a family again. A family where she could forget this Dragonborn business. She looked down at the priceless heirloom and turned back to the residence. She left the plate against the wall right next to the door.

Curse her bleeding heart.

She stayed in Windhelm for roughly two weeks, waiting for a courier or something to show from the Dark Brotherhood. By then, Aventus had returned to Riften and she had put herself on the radar after some psychopath tried to brutally murder a local woman that Thorain was conveniently walking around at night trying to clear her head. Turned out he was a murderer the guards had been trying to hunt down after the death of one of the daughters of a prominent family. Thorain saved that woman's life and got her the attention of Ulfric Stormcloak. Well, not Ulfric per ce…

His steward wouldn't leave her alone, frequently requesting that she come meet the Jarl that she wanted no part of after her ordeal with another Jarl that sent her off to fight a _dragon_. Who knew what this Jarl would request of her and she could probably guess it had something to do with the civil war.

She finally had enough waiting and left Windhelm in route back to Riften deeming it enough time had passed that the assassination was no longer being looked in to. Not that anyone would miss Grelod from her understanding. They probably didn’t even have an investigation, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Her goal was to take up Brynjolf on his offer. The Thieves Guild she remembered was flourishing back in Cyrodiil under her mother’s command (when she decided to be the Gray Fox). It was the quickest way for her to make a bit of coin and to have a good relationship with the Thieves Guild to take advantage of the fact that they had guards in their pocket (or will have guards in their pockets. They were more inclined to accept bribes from thieves instead of murderers).

She dared let a smile cross her face when she finally reached the markets of Riften and there at a stall was the thief that stolen her coin purse and offered her a place amongst his guild. He didn’t notice her until she took the vial he was peddling out from his hand and popped the cork. She took a whiff and grimaced, “You’re more down on your luck than I thought.” She re-corked the bottle and handed it back to Brynjolf.

“Welcome back, Lass. Did you think of my offer?”

“I did. And I’m sure you figured out why I was here.”

“Grelod the Kind could most likely answer that question were she still breathing. Strange that no one looked into the matter. Almost like no one cared.”

“I expected as much, but call it a healthy level of paranoia.”

Brynjolf chuckled at the statement. “Say, Lass, up for a bit of a challenge?”

She shrugged. “I’ve got the time.” She did have time until the Dark Brotherhood delivered their message.

He jerked his chin toward the Argonian selling his jewelry and baubles. “I want you to get into Madesi’s lockbox, steal his ring and plant it on Brand-Shei.” He jerked his chin again, this time toward the Dunmer with the unusual name. “Sound simple enough?”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“ Brynjolf, frankly I’m offended that you would give me such an easy job. But I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

“Good. I’ll start a distraction and then show me what you’re made of.”

Thorain nodded and meandered away like she was going to browse other wares. “Everyone! Everyone! Gather ‘round!” Brynjolf called out, luring Madesi away from his stall to see what the fuss was about.

Like a shadow, she ducked behind the stall, virtually unseen and picked the lock without breaking her pick. Swiping the ring (and other valuables), she slipped out again rounding the market place until she was within proximity of Brand-Shei crouched behind some boxes he was sitting on. The ring was in his pocket without him knowing and she gave a nod to Brynjolf as she passed by.

“Well, I see my time is up. Come back tomorrow if you wish to buy!” He regaled. Everyone cleared out thinking Brynjolf was out of his mind and Thorain approached him. “It looks like I picked the right person for the job. Here, payment for a job well done.” He handed her a few septims and she cocked an eyebrow at it.

“100 septims? You skimping out on me.”

“Never you mind. There will definitely be more to come. The way things have been going around here, it’s a relief that our plan went off without a hitch.”

“You still haven’t told me what’s been going on.”

"Bah,” Brynjolf scoffed, clearly annoyed. “My organization’s been having a run of bad luck, but I suppose that’s just how it goes. But never mind that, you did the job and you did it well. Best of all, there’s more where that came from… if you think you can handle it.”

“I can handle it,” She smirked.

“We have our home in the Ratway beneath Riften… a tavern called the Ragged Flagon. Get there in one piece and we’ll see if you’ve really got what it takes.”

“Not going to escort a lady?” She teased, knowing full well he wasn’t going to.

“I have to finish packing up the stall. You go on ahead.”

She shook her head and wandered her way to the door to the Ratway. It took maybe 15 minutes of stealthily shooting people in the skull with arrows before she made it to the Ragged Flagon a little miffed about a few arrows she wasn’t able to retrieve. Until she made more, she only had the ones stolen from slain bandits to rely on.

The Ragged Flagon itself looked like it had seen better days. Many of the alcoves in the wall held boxes and various pieces of broken furniture. The place really looked like a dump, but for a band of thieves she guessed it would have to do.

“Give it up, Brynjolf… those days are over,” She heard someone say and for a moment she was impressed that Brynjolf beat her here, meaning there was a back way in.

“I’m telling you, this one is different…” Brynjolf argued.

“We’ve all heard that one before. Quit kidding yourself,” Another said.

“It’s time to face the truth, old friend,” The voice from before said. She rounded the corner to see it was the bartender talking to Brynjolf, leaning against the bar with others listening to what Brynjolf had to say. “You and Vex and Mercer, you’re all part of a dying breed. Things are changing.”

She let her footsteps be heard and she could hear the smile in Brynjolf’s tone as he said, “Dying breed, eh? What do you call _that_ , then?” He ignored the looks of the others and approached Thorain. “Color me impressed, Lass. I wasn’t certain I’d ever see you again.”

“Getting here was easy,” She bragged, crossing her arms. He was no longer in the fancy getup from before and now in black stained leather armor with plenty of pockets for stolen items fit for a thief.

“Reliable _and_ headstrong,” He almost chuckled. Thorain couldn’t help her smile at the large Nord. “You’re turning out to be quite the prize.” She pushed down the blush that threatened to pop up.

She quickly assessed the number of people in the Ragged Flagon, reinforcing her previous statement of the Guild being down on their luck. The blonde woman seated at the bar almost looked like she could have been twins with the bartender with a bit more attitude than the kind faced barkeep. The Redguard looked like someone she would not overly get along with and the older Breton thief looked like he had his fingers in perhaps one too many pies and wasn’t afraid of doing the dirty work for a few extra septims. He was definitely an ally worth keeping.

“So…” Brynjolf started, gesturing to a nearby chair. She sat down and he took the seat across from her. “Now that I’ve whetted your appetite with our little scheme at the market, how about handling a few deadbeats for me?”

“Deadbeats? What’d they do?”

“They owe our organization some serious coin and they’ve decided not to pay. I want you to explain to them the error of their ways.”

She shrugged. “Sure. Sounds good. Who are they?”

“Keerava, Bersi Honey-Hand and Haelga. Do this right and I can promise you a permanent place in our organization.” They were shortly interrupted by the barkeep, that she would learn later was named Vekel the Man (she had to ask where ‘the Man’ came from), who placed a few tankards in front of herself and Brynjolf. She gave a brief nod of thanks and took a sip of the wine served.

“How did you want me to handle it?”

“Honestly, the debt is secondary here. What’s more important is that you get the message across that we aren’t to be ignored. I know your background, Lass, but I don’t want any of them killed. Bad for business.” He drank some of his wine as well.

“Consider it done,” She agreed to the terms.

“Good.” He gave her brief information about where to hit each of these people where it hurts and she was on her way.

* * *

She returned within a few hours with 3 bags of coins from each of the respective targets and a giddy feeling. She had done a few Thieves Guild contracts for her mother when it was needed and she missed the thrill of seeing the looks on people’s faces when they realize they’ve been robbed blind. Even shaking down someone was fun. Her aptitude for assassination came first only to her inner kleptomania.

She dropped the bags on the table in front of Brynjolf who could only smile at the situation. “So, job’s done and you even brought the gold. Best of all you did it clean. I like that. Dumping bodies and keeping the guards quiet can be expensive.”

“It’s all here. Everything they owed us.”

“Well done,” He praised. “And it would seem I owe you something in return. Here you go, I think you’ll find these quite useful.”

800 septims and a few poisons were handed over which she stuffed in her small pack that hung off her hip. “What’s next then?” She asked, sitting herself in a chair across from him.

“Judging from how well you handle those shopkeepers, I’d say you’ve done more than simply prove yourself. We need people like you in our outfit.”

“If there’s more gold where that came from, I’m in.”

Brynjolf grinned. “That’s the spirit! Larceny’s in your blood… the telltale sign of a practiced thief. I think you’ll do more than just fit in around here.”

He didn’t know the half of it.

Thorain’s mother used to take the name of the Gray Fox that many thieves revere. One story even told of a carriage of a prominent noble being robbed… while he was inside. Did Thorain believe it? Yes, yes she did.

“Well, if we’re done chit-chatting, how about following me and I’ll show you what we’re all about.” Brynjolf stood and led the way to a nearby cabinet, unsuspecting and not entirely out of place in a bar. For all the guards knew it held food and booze, but the false back confirmed her suspicions.

Going through another door brought them to the real home of the Thieves Guild: the Cistern. Beds lined the walls with trunks at the end of each for each thief’s personal belongings (locked up tight) with walkways crossing over the water pool. In the center of the walkways stood an older man, gruff and stoic dressed in leather armor similar to Brynjolf’s.

“Mercer?” Brynjolf called out, approaching the man. “This is the one I was talking about… our new recruit.”

“This better not be another waste of the Guild’s resources, Brynjolf. Especially wasting resources on an assassin,” Mercer gruffed out, not overly impressed with Thorain much to her annoyance. “Before we continue, I want to make one thing perfectly clear, if you play by the rules, you walk away rich. You break the rules and you lose your share. No debates, no discussions, you do what we say, when we say. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” She answered, already annoyed that this man was berating her. She successfully performed both jobs Brynjolf gave her so why didn’t that count for much.

“Good. Then I think it’s time we put your expertise to the test.”

That seemed to strike a cord with Brynjolf who exclaimed, “Wait a moment, you’re not talking about Goldenglow, are you? Even our little Vex couldn’t get in!”

“You claim this recruit possesses an aptitude for our line of work. If so, let this prove it. Prove that the assassin can stay her blade to perform this right,” Mercer deadpanned. It seemed he clearly didn’t like assassins amongst his ranks. “Goldenglow Estate is critically important to one of our largest clients. However, the owner suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson. Brynjolf will provide you the details.”

“Mercer, haven’t you forgotten something?” The Nord in question asked.

“Hmm? Oh, yes… Since Brynjolf assures me you’ll be nothing but a benefit to us, then you’re in. Welcome to the Thieves Guild.” The whole statement sounded forced. She planned to stay out of Mercer’s way for as long as she was in the Guild, sticking to Brynjolf.

“I take it he doesn’t like me much,” She asked, looking up at Brynjolf who crossed his arms in annoyance at Mercer’s behavior.

“Regardless of what he thinks, I know you’ll be an asset to the Guild, Lass. Let me be the first to say welcome to the Family, Lass. I’m expecting you to make us a lot of coin, so don’t disappoint me.”

She smiled and nodded, finding herself unable to help herself. “So, where do I get a fancy getup like yours?” She asked, patting one of the pockets lining his armor.

“Tonilia in the Flagon. She’ll set you up with your new armor.” Brynjolf crossed his arms. “So, _can_ the assassin stay her blade long enough to get this job done?”

She glared at him until she realized he was teasing. “It won’t even leave its sheath.”

She quickly found Tonilia and got decked out in a brown version of Brynjolf’s armor, finding the fit to suit her tastes. She was always one for leather armor instead of chainmail or studded, anything heavy that could weigh her down.

With the information about the Goldenglow Estate, happy that there a need for fire. She couldn’t compare to the battle mages from Cyrodiil, but her penchant for fire magic was enough to hold its own in a fight (as was her healing, but she learned that out of necessity).

With a few vials of invisibility potions purchased from Tonilia, she left the Ragged Flagon headed for the Goldenglow Estate a little nervous since she wasn’t the strongest of swimmers. She’ll have to see what happens to get to that sewer grate.


	5. A Mad Man's Meeting

Thorain always disliked the water. She had a small phobia (see: _extreme phobia_ ) of it after a botched contract that sent her flying out a nearby window and into the lake surrounding the Imperial City causing her to hit her head and nearly drown. She was fished out by some urchins who tried to rob her blind only to discover the error of their ways when she woke up to them groping her body for valuables.

She made the mistake of leaving the bee hives for last and setting them aflame one at a time instead of setting all three ablaze at once. The guards came running and she was forced over the back fence, losing her footing on the slippery rocks behind it, and into the water below. Already exhausted from the magicka she used up setting the damn things on fire (flammable her ass), she nearly drowned trying to get to shore - flailing pathetically in an attempt at swimming. The job was completed without a hitch and the smoke billowing from the bee hives sent a clear message to those around and she had a bill of sale tucked into her surprisingly water proof leather armor pocket.

She staggered back to the Cistern, thankful of the easy access through the mausoleum entrance. Brynjolf was standing in the middle of the Cistern waiting for her, slightly pacing. He grinned when she walked up, thoroughly soaked. “Word on the street is Goldenglow’s been hit. Good job, Lass.”

“You can thank me by getting me a towel,” She glowered, ringing out her hair. “Here’s what was in the safe,” She informed, handing him the slightly damp-around-the-edges paper.

Brynjolf took the paper and examined it, his eyebrows furrowing in distaste. “Aringoth sold Goldenglow? What’s that idiot thinking? He has no idea the extent of Maven’s fury when she’s been cut out of a deal, but I’m certain he’ll find out.” Brynjolf sighed and ran a hand through his shoulder length ginger hair. “If only this parchment had the buyer’s name instead of this odd symbol. Any idea what that might be?”

The symbol in question looked like a small dagger with a circle background. Unknown of any organization she was aware of. “No idea,” She replied honestly.

“Blast. Well, I’ll check my sources and speak to Mercer. But for now, you’re off to speak to Maven Black-Briar. She asked for you by name.”

“Maven? And here I thought I did the job well. What does Maven want from me?” Thorain crossed her arms a little cautious over the fact that Maven already knew her by name.

“That’s between you and Maven and I prefer to keep it that way. Don’t worry about it. Maven’s business dealings usually involve quite a bit of gold for her people. You’re supposed to meet her at the Bee and Barb.” She still didn’t like it. Going in alone with no one to watch her back was not a way she wanted to deal with things. But Brynjolf hadn’t done her wrong so far.

“Speaking of which…” She trailed off giving him a playful smirk.

He caught on quick. “Of course, your pay. Ha! You’re a smart as a whip, Lass.”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘Lass’? My name is Thorain if you’ve forgotten.”

He shrugged. “I just feel like calling you Lass.”

She shook her head and asked, “So, about that towel?”

Brynjolf let out a laugh and placed his hand against the small of her back, leading her to the Ragged Flagon along with pressing a small pouch of coin into her hand.

She wished she stayed in the Flagon because Maven Black-Briar, as she learned, was a snide woman that reminded her of a bird. Squinty eyes, hair as dark as a raven’s wing, lips tight and small and pale even for Skyrim. Thorain disliked women with a holier-than-thou attitude and Maven was the walking epitome of it. Even sitting in a chair on the second floor of the Bee and Barb, she sat like she owned the place. “So, you’re the one. Hmm… You don’t look that impressive,” She said, looking Thorain up and down, assessing her threat level. Judging by the look in her eyes, Maven thought Thorain was about as threatening as a small dog bred to sit in ones lap.

Thorain sat down in the seat across from the bird woman, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs at the knee. “How about we skip the conversation?”

Maven’s eyebrows twitched. “You’re a firebrand, aren’t you? It’s about time Brynjolf sent me someone with business sense. I was beginning to think he was running some sort of beggar’s guild over there.”

Thorain’s grip on her chair’s arm tightened but she said nothing in retaliation. “Where do I begin?”

“Head to the Bannered Mare in Whiterun and look for Mallus Maccius. He’ll fill you in on all the details.” Short and to the point, like an arrow drawn to fire. Maven directed, Thorain was expected to obey.

“Fine. I can be there within 5 days.”

“Make it 4.”

“3 days?”

“Our window of opportunity is closing and I need this job done right. 3 days.” The statement held a hint of a threat of something to come should the Dunmer fail. Thorain stood and was about to leave when Maven called after her, “One more time in case I wasn’t clear. You butcher this job and you’ll be sorry.”

Thorain left the Bee and Barb in a worse mood than she entered in and she nearly punched the courier that ran up to her. “I've been looking for you. Got something I'm supposed to deliver - your hands only. Let's see here..." He dug through his satchel full of letters. "Yeah, got this note." He held the letter out for her.

"From who?"

"Don't know. Creepy fellow. Black robe, couldn't see his face. Paid me a pretty sum to get that in your hands though. Looks like that's it. Got to go!" The courier took off running and her heart started to race.

With a smile, she broke the wax and yanked the note out. There stamped in the center was a black hand with two words: We know. She could have leapt for joy right there in the center of the market place. This was it: The Dark Brotherhood had found her and she would be amongst family again.

Thorain walked for days through the vast landscape towards Whiterun, stopping only for short rests and to bathe in a freezing river after a nasty run-in with a sorry-excuse for a Khajiit thief. It took a bit of scrubbing to get the blood off her armor from a stream nearby. Her fingers nearly turned red from the contact with the icy cold water that streamed down from the snow topped mountains, but the stains came out eventually which was surprising for leather armor. The thief barely had much on him – a few pieces of gold and some fine silver, but anyone with sense could get that from any house in a city.

She almost laughed at herself – barely a week in the Thieves Guild and already she was critiquing how other thieves managed.

The weather had just started to warm up when she noticed a rather large wagon on the road ahead with someone standing beside it. As she got closer, she noticed the person, a male, was wearing a jester’s garb, red and black. On the back of the wagon was a large box that made her curious as to what was inside. Weapons for the war?

“Ah!” The man exclaimed. “Bother and befuddle! Stuck here! Stuck! My mother, my poor mother. Unmoving. At rest, but too still!”

“Is there a problem?” She called out, approaching the man. It wasn’t until he turned to face her that she sprinted for him. “Cicero!” She cried out happily, throwing her arms around the startled man’s neck, squeezing him like a lifeline.

“Thorain?” Cicero questioned before his arms wrapped around her as well, hopping around in a weird dance chanting, “Speaker and the Keeper together again! Oh, mother must have known poor Cicero was alone! Mother brought dear Thorain to Cicero once again!”

His speech and tone were off. Severely off, Thorain realized. Thorain stopped his dancing and spread from him to lightly touch his face. “What happened to you, Keeper? What happened to the others?”

“Oh, Garnag had gone for food and never came back. Rasha slain for he was a fake. Pontius dead at the hand of a common bandit. So Cicero came here! The silence will be broken!” He spoke of the deaths of their family like he was buying a meal from an innkeeper.

“There has been no Listener yet?”

“None. Rasha had not heard the binding words. Cicero had not heard the binding words. Just silence. Maddening silence!” He danced in his place, the flaps of his hat bouncing along.

Thorain watched the person who had once been gentle, ever loyal and ever sane Cicero as the madness became clear. All these years, he only had the Night Mother. Silence. Turned insane in his desperate attempt to hear the Night Mother’s words and become the Listener so that the Dark Brotherhood would not fall. She couldn’t help but feel pity and sadness for the dear Keeper with an instinct to care for him that she thought was dead.

She cupped his face and said, “You will no longer be alone, my brother. Let’s get this wagon wheel fixed and get our Lady to a new home.”

After a firm talking to with the local farmer named Lorieus, Thorain helped Cicero hook up the horse again once the wagon was repaired. She was mildly concerned that she had to tell the Imperial to stay his blade from the farmer, but remained calm so the farmer wouldn’t go screaming for the guard a little down the road.

“Where are you headed?” Thorain finally asked the jester one the horse was in place.

“Cicero is heading for a Sanctuary! A Sanctuary only Cicero knows and knows the password for!” He started to giggle to himself. “Maybe then Mother will talk to poor, sweet Cicero. Maybe Mother will speak to _someone_.”

Thorain was confused. Why was Cicero here if not for the only Sanctuary still in operation? Why go to a Sanctuary that’s been long abandoned? She could talk some sense into the man, but she realized quickly it would be a lost cause for Cicero was madder than a feral wolf. “Where is this Sanctuary?”

“Dawnstar!” He seemed so pleased with his plan, hopping up on to the seat and taking the horse’s reins.

Dawnstar was out of her way from her previous journey to Whiterun she realized from her memorization of the map stuffed in her pack. This would add nearly 3 days to her original timeline that Maven gave her who no doubt sent a missive ahead of her informing Mallus of her intended arrival.

“You go on ahead,” She reluctantly said, lightly petting the horse’s muzzle.

Cicero stopped his bouncing at a dead stop. "Speaker?" He questioned, gazing down at her almost hurt. She could tell he was really looking forward to it being 'The Keeper and the Speaker' rebuilding the Dark Brotherhood, but she had a job to do. Plus Cicero's idea of them rebuilding the Dark Brotherhood from scratch was nothing short of insane (maybe that's why it seems like a good idea to the jester).

Cicero frowned and looked forward at the road ahead. Whipping the reins, the horse jumped into motion pulling the cart along.

Thorain sighed deeply watching the cart disappear into the forest. She didn't want to leave Cicero, but his idea was just madness. They were just a Keeper and a Speaker. Thorain never had her own Sanctuary to run, always at the right hand of her mother as her personal Speaker. She didn't even have a Silencer nor did she know how to go about getting one - she never needed one for she much preferred to do the contracts herself. Rasha was the patron of the Sanctuary and her mother was the 'Speaker' for Cheydinhal while Alisanne acted as Listener to avoid another betrayal like the likes of Mathieu Bellamont. She didn't even know how to recruit people despite it being a Speaker's responsibility and Cicero was too far gone in madness to recruit people.

Adjusting her pack, she returned to her hike for Whiterun - heart heavier than before.

* * *

Lifting the lid to the vat, Thorain poured the rat poison inside.

Annoyed, she slammed the lid back down and looked at her bite covered arms. It took a few potions to fully reassure herself that the disease those damn skeevers carried didn't decide to use her body as a host. The lunatic in the _skeever_ _lair_ really was a new one. She had heard of crazy hermits, but this guy planned on using an army of skeevers to take revenge. Poisoning the vat was easy, but the lunatic was _not_ part of the job description.

Mallus was waiting for her and silently gloated to her, "I can't wait to see Sabjorn squirm."

She walked past him and up to Sabjorn. "Job's finished," She announced, taking note of the Captain of the Guard standing not far from them in front of a small cask of mead.

"Well it's about time! I had to stall the captain until you finished."

"What about my pay?"

"You'll just have to wait until the captain's finished. I suppose you can wait around if you must." Sabjorn walked off to converse with the captain.

Sabjorn handed Commander Caius a goblet and the captain gave a smile, "Well, Sabjorn, now that you've taken care of your little pest problem, how about I get a taste of some of your mead?"

Sabjorn was smooth. "Help yourself, milord. It's my finest brew yet... I call it Honningbrew Reserve. I think you'll find it quite pleasing to your palate." He made it seem like this was wine instead of mead which the Commander commented on. He filled up his goblet and took a sip.

The reaction was instant with him dropping the goblet in a fit of hacking. "By the Eight?! What... What's in this?!" Caius demanded, his hand slamming on the counter to keep upright.

"I-I don't know. What's wrong?" Sabjorn was squirming, just as Mallus predicted.

"You assured me this place was clean!" Caius accused, probably recognizing the taste of rat poison that Thorain was curious as to how he knew. "I'll see... see to it that you remain in irons for the rest of your days!"

"No, please! I don't understand..."

"Silence, idiot!" Caius almost looked green. "I should have know better... to trust this place after it's been riddled with filth!"

"I beg you... please. This is not what it seems!"

Commander Caius ignored the man's pleading and approached Mallus. "You... You're in charge here until I can sort this all out." He did an about-face on Sabjorn. "And you... you're coming with me to Dragonsreach. We'll see how quickly your memory clears in the city's prisons. Now move!"

"Look, I assure you, this is all just a huge misunderstanding!"

Caius' sword was drawn. "I said move!"

"Farewell, Sabjorn," Mallus called after him as he was forcefully escorted from the premises. The moment Sabjorn was gone, Mallus said to Thorain, "I don't think that could have gone any better."

Thorain nodded and crossed her arms. "I need to get a look at Sabjorn's books."

"So, Maven wants to hunt down Sabjorn's private partner, huh? You're welcome to take a look around Sabjorn's office. He keeps most of his papers stashed in his desk."

Sabjorn's office doubled as his bedroom and she found the papers in question stuffed in a dresser nearby. The same symbol marked the document and she swore silently to herself. Still no name as to who is trying to sabotage the Thieves Guild by taking out the only sponsor they had left (Thorain would have to work on that as well). Maven would not be pleased.

Pocketing the promissory note, she headed out for the stables. Selling what stolen goods she had swiped from the meadery (mostly unpoisoned bottles of mead) to the camp of Khajiit, she paid a carriage driver to take her back to Riften not bothering to enter Whiterun should any of the guards call her 'Dragonborn' again.

Maven was waiting for her when she returned to Riften. "Job's finished," She reported, taking a seat across from her again. She dug in her pocket and pulled out the promissory. "Here's the information you requested."

Maven looked unimpressed with the situation when she finished reading the note. "This doesn't tell me much. The only thing that could identify Sabjorn's partner is this odd little symbol."

Thorain nodded and crossed her arms. "Yes. I've seen that symbol before."

"Well," Maven scoffed. "Whoever this mysterious marking represents, they'll regret starting a war with me. You should bring this information to the Thieves Guild immediately." Maven stood up. "There's also the matter of your payment. I believe you'll find this more than adequate for your services." She deposited a coin purse in Thorain's open hand.

She left swiftly to avoid spending any more time than necessary in Maven's 'wecoming' company.

The Cistern welcomed her, Rune the first to greet her standing by the cooking pot while Niruin made some dinner for the lot (his turn, she guessed). "Have you seen Brynjolf?" She questioned Rune.

"Back training room." He gestured to an archway leading to the designated training room.

She entered the training room, seeing Brynjolf with a knife slicing away at a practice dummy. She watched his movements, assessing and calculating. An assassin knew the perfect opportunity to strike. Brynjolf seemed to give no opportunity for an opening except at one point when he goes for an abdominal attack. He swings a bit wider than the rest of his attacks, giving someone who knows how to exploit that a chance to take his life.

"You might want to tighten up that low strike," She commented.

She could see him smirk and stop his practice. "Oh really?" He shot forward, going with the low strike. Her hand slammed against his wrist, forcing it down and to the side giving her the chance to place her palm against his chest.

"If I had a knife in my hand, you would be dead," Thorain stated matter-of-factly.

Brynjolf only chuckled and said, “I’ll work on it, dear judgmental assassin.” They separated and he sheathed his knife. “Word on the street is that poor Sabjorn has found himself in Whiterun’s prison. How unfortunate for him.”

“And unfortunate for the lunatic living under the meadery. Yet, very fortunate for Maven.”

“Exactly.”

“And sink your teeth into this: the same symbol from Goldenglow was involved.”

Brynjolf’s jovial attitude changed and his brows furrowed. “Then this is beyond coincidence. First Aringoth and now Sabjorn. Someone’s trying to take us down by driving a wedge between Maven and the Guild.”

“That’s what I figured. Is there anything we can do?” She crossed her arms, expecting him to shrug and say ‘no idea’.

“Mercer thinks he knows a way to identify this new thorn in our side. He wants to meet with you right away. And if I were you, I’d hurry. I’ve never seen him this angry before.”

“Really? He seems like an angry person,” Thorain commented, making the Nord crack a smile.

She smiled back and left the room giving him a half-assed wave, hearing him going back to his knife-play. “Ah, there you are!” Mercer called out. He was leaning over the only desk in the whole cistern, peering over the books. “I consulted my contacts regarding the information you recovered from Goldenglow Estate, but no one can identify that symbol.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. I found the same marking at Honningbrew Meadery.”

“It would seem our adversary is attempting to take us apart indirectly by angering Maven Black-Briar. Very clever.”

“You admire them?” She wasn’t surprised if he did: she admired whoever this was as well. Now that she knows that Maven is their biggest benefactor, if she had any intention of taking down the Guild it would be through Maven.

“Don’t mistake my admiration for complacency; our nemesis is going to pay dearly.” _Nemesis._ Thorain narrowed her eyes ever so slightly at the word. Nemesis normally isn’t a word chosen unless someone _knows_ who is coming after them. Maybe enemy or a thorn in their side would be used to describe someone, but nemesis seemed too personal.

Then again, maybe Mercer was a tad dramatic. “How can we make them pay?”

“Because, even after all their posturing and planning, they’ve made a mistake. The parchment recovered mentions a ‘Gajul-Lei’. According to my contacts, that’s an old alias used by one of our contacts. His real name is Gulum-Ei. Slimy bastard.”

“Sounds like an Argonian. Where do I begin?”

“Gulum-Ei is our inside man at the East Empire Company in Solitude. I’m betting he acted as a go-between for the sale of Goldenglow and that he can finger our buyer. Get out there, shake him down and see what you came up with. Talk to Brynjolf before you leave if you have any questions.”

A good old-fashioned shakedown – _that_ she could do with her eyes closed. She gave a two fingered salute and wandered over to where Brynjolf was. He had left the training room and to his sleeping area with a bucket of water between his feet and a washcloth in hand cleaning the sweat and dust from his skin.

She sat on the bed across from him. “So, I’m told you can tell me more about Gulum-Ei.”

Brynjolf sighed in an annoyed fashion. “I can’t believe Gulum-Ei’s mixed up in all this; that Argonian couldn’t find his tail with both hands.”

“Which makes him perfect for the job.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You wouldn’t have thought in a lifetime Gulum-Ei would be mixed up in this. Whoever this person is, went with the least suspecting, possibly an imbecilic contact related to the Guild and used him to their advantage. He’s no mastermind which makes him the perfect go-between.” 

Brynjolf nodded. “Don’t get me wrong, he could scam a begger out of his last septim… but as you said: he’s no mastermind.”

“Think he’ll give me any trouble?” She questioned, not like she was worried, but she knew the Thieves Guild had a strict ‘no killing’ policy. She wondered if she could slide with beating the information out of him.

“Trouble?” Brynjolf almost laughed. “He’s one of the most stubborn lizards I’ve ever met! You have your work cut out for you.”

“So how do I get him to talk?”

“You’re going to have to buy him off; it’s the only way to get his attention. If that fails, follow him and see what he’s up to. If I know Gulum-Ei, he’s in way over his head and you’ll be able to use it as leverage.”

She sighed and leaned her elbows on her knees. “Betrayal or not, I’ll let him live. Doesn’t mean I won’t rough him up if it proves to be more trouble than its worth.”

“I’m glad to see you’re embracing our methods. It would be a waste to lose a contact at the East Empire Company before we had the entire story. Just keep on Gulum-Ei’s tail and he’s bound to step into something he can’t scrape off his boot.”

“I suppose I’m off then.”

“Good luck in Solitude. Keep Gulum-Ei alive, but remind him who we are.”

She had never been to Solitude, now that she thought about it. It’d be an interesting place she imagined since it was the seat of the High King ( _former_ she corrected herself remembering that he was supposedly _shouted_ to death by Ulfric Stormcloak).

Selling a few stolen goods to Tonilia, she stopped by the blacksmith and bartered plenty of arrows from him should the need arise and sharpened her dagger to a fine sharp edge. She smiled at the blacksmith, Balimund, training his young adoptive son in the ways of blacksmithing, the young man doing pretty well. She also agreed to retrieve fire-salts for Balimund in exchange for a glass bow he had hanging on a rack nearby.

Tossing a coinpurse to the carriage driver, she hopped in the back and said, “Take me to Solitude.”


	6. The One and Only Listener

She approached the gates to Solitude hearing yelling and hollering coming from beyond the grand doors. "You're just in time to say hello to Roggvir," A guard informed giving her an uncaring glance.

She stopped in her tracks at the out-of-no-where remark. "Who is Roggvir?"

"He's the sorry bastard who's going to be executed. A gate guard who let Ulfric Stormcloak escape the city, after he killed the High King."

"Joy..." She muttered, entering the city.

A crowd was gathered immediately to her right and on a platform was a man in rags with his hands tied behind his back. He was standing in front of a chopping block which brought back memories of Helgen. A young girl stood not far from her, arguing with her father. "They can't hurt uncle Roggvir! Tell them he didn't do it!" She begged.

"Svari, go home," Her father pleaded and Thorain approached the platform.

People shouted incoherent things at the condemned man, adding insult to injury. "Roggvir, you helped Ulfric Stormcloak escape the city after he murdered High King Toryyg," A man she assumed with the Captain of the Guard addressed. "By opening that gate for Ulfric, you betrayed the people of Solitude."

Roggvir tried to plead his case, but his case fell on deaf ears. Regardless, he allowed the captain to position his head on the block. "This day, I go to Sovngarde," He sighed, closing his eyes.

The executioner raised his large axe and cleanly severed Roggvir's head from his shoulders. A rather distasteful way to go, Thorain thought to herself, feeling the same from when her head rested on a block. A necklace that Roggvir must have been wearing flew from the block and landed directly at her feet. The amulet, she realized, was the symbol of Talos, a man who became a god the Nord's revered and worshipped. She knelt down and picked up the slightly bloodied amulet - a believer in this Talos until the very end Roggvir was.

Everyone had cleared out and the curator of the Hall of the Dead arrived to collect the body and she wandered off, rubbing a cloth over the amulet to get rid of the blood. The little girl, Svari, came into view wanting to know what happened to Roggvir from her father who walked their home giving up on trying to explain the situation. Svari visibly looked sunken knowing she was never going to see her uncle again. "Hey, kid," Thorain called out.

The girl looked up at her and frowned. "I... I don't want to talk..."

"I'll make it quick, then. Here." Thorain held out the amulet for the young girl.

Her eyes lit up. "This is Uncle Roggvir's!" The girl gingerly took the amulet from and held it like it was made of glass. Thorain walked away quickly, hearing a small call of, "Thank you!"

She held back a laugh as she entered the Winking Skeever because of its name. Seeing no sign of Gulum-Ei or any Argonian for that matter, she questioned the innkeeper about Gulum-Ei's whereabouts. As it would turn out, she had just missed him since he was going on a trading run for the East Empire Company and wouldn't be back for a few months. Sighing at the wait, she rent a room for the night and flopped down on her bed to relax her road worn body. Carriages weren't the most comfy form of travel but it sure beat walking from Riften to Solitude.

Her ears twitched at a soft thump noise, barely noticeable to anyone else if they weren't trained like she was. She also thought she was quick, but as it turned out the stranger in her room was _quicker_ , when she reached for her knife only for a cloth to press over her mouth and nose.

Within moments, a dizzy feeling came over her and it became difficult to keep her eyes open. "Who...?" Darkness enveloped her.

* * *

Thorain knew not how much time had passed, but when she awoke, she realized she was no longer at the Winking Skeever. From the smell, she was in a swamp _somewhere_ in Skyrim that she had yet to encounter in a ramshackle one-roomed shack that looked like one bad storm would blow its walls down. She slowly sat up so she wouldn't get sick, noting the only light source in the whole place was a couple of candles set by someone, a woman, in red and black armor - colors she recognized. The half-mask covered the lower half of her face, giving her only the view of the woman's eyes; sharp and like that of an eagle.

"Sleep well?" The woman asked – her voice soothing and sultry.

"Where am I?" Thorain asked carefully.

"Does it matter? You're warm, dry and still very much alive," The woman answered plainly. "That's more than can be said for old Grelod, hm?"

Thorain could only smile at the tenacity of the Dark Brotherhood. "It matters when I get drugged and dragged to a swamp in the middle of nowhere. Added to that, it took you long enough to take notice about Grelod's death."

"Half of Skyrim knows about that. Old Hag gets butchered in her own orphanage? Things like that tend to get around."

"And yet the Dark Brotherhood took this long to finally realize who had done it. I'm starting to regret coming here," Thorain crossed her arms and leaned her weight on one foot.

"So you know who you stole the contract from. Good, that saves me the formalities."

"Stole from? You mistake me for some common murderer who butchers old women in their bedrooms."

"Then who do I have to congratulate the kill on?"

"My name is Thorain. I come from the sanctuary in Cheydinhal."

That caught the person's attention. She leapt down from the bookshelf and stepped within arms reach of Thorain. "We had not heard from the sanctuary in years. Let me be the first to welcome you to Skyrim and to our Family, Sister. I am Astrid, the matron of our Sanctuary. How about a welcome home present? A little game?"

"You shouldn't have," Thorain smiled, barely containing her excitement. Astrid had never seemed so beautiful since she was what Thorain was looking for: a family and her place in the Dark Brotherhood once again. Another chance to take up the blade in the name of Sithis in service to the Night Mother.

Astrid placed her hands on Thorain's shoulders and guided her to turn around. "Say hello to my guests," Astrid said. Kneeling on the floor was three people each with a bag over their head and their arms tied behind their backs. "I've collected them from... Well, that doesn't matter. The here and now, that's what matters, you see, there's a contract out on one of them and that person can't leave this room alive. But, oh, which one? Go on; see if you can't figure it out."

"You make this too easy, Astrid," Thorain chuckled, drawing one of her knives and approaching the 3 captives. A mercenary, a shrew of a woman and a backstabbing Khajiit. It was only too obvious who had the contract on them: they all did. Without blinking, she killed them all - laughing as the mercenary begged for his life when he heard the Khajiit and the woman die.

"You take no chances, I see?"

"I'm no idiot, Astrid. I know each of them had a contract out on them. It was only a matter of sending assassins after the two I didn't kill. So I saved both the time and the resources."

Astrid looked both impressed and amused. Regardless, she pulled Thorain into a warm embrace and said, "Welcome home, Sister. Come, you shall travel with me to the Sanctuary and meet your new family."

They left the shack, Astrid giving the key to it to Thorain should she ever have use of it again (she doubted it), and mounted the horse Astrid used to carry them both there. Thorain sat behind her, holding on to her waist while Astrid spurred the horse into a gallop. The Dunmer's happiness was overflowing at this point knowing she was finally home now that she had reunited with the second half of her family (she would still count the Thieves Guild as family now).

They rode for hours nonstop, the horse never seeming to slow down except when going downhill. Astrid had informed Thorain that they would be arriving within the hour and before she knew it, the skeleton door most associated with a Sanctuary came into view within a small rocky outcropping that wouldn't be noticed from the road unless someone was specifically looking in this area for it. "Here it is," Astrid smiled, dismounting and giving Thorain enough space to do the same.

They approached the door and the raspy, whispery voice came, _"What is the music of life?"_

"Silence, my brother," Astrid answered.

_"Welcome home."_

The door swung open and Astrid guided her inside. "Welcome home, Sister," Astrid smiled watching Thorain take in her surroundings - the stone surroundings, furniture pushed against the wall lined with books and maps, a table with a map of Skyrim flattened against it with a few knives stabbed into the surface. To her left looked like a bedroom, probably Astrid's and straight ahead led further into the Sanctuary. "You won't find a safer place in all of Skyrim," the blonde explained leaning against the doorway straight ahead.

Thorain's eyes lowered. "We thought that, too, and yet they still found us. Still found the tomb of the Night Mother."

"You were there?" Astrid questioned, wanting a bit more information.

"Yes. With a few others. We went to the tomb in hopes of moving the Night Mother. We succeeded, but the casualties exceeded what we previously imagined. Only myself and an Orc named Garnag escaped with the stone coffin. I led the soldiers away from Garnag on a chase that lasted two years. Turned out my efforts were in vain since our Sanctuary was still found."

Astrid made a small noise of deep thought. "It is what it is. Now, down the business. I'm arranging a job for you. But in the meantime, go talk to Nazir. He may have some smaller contacts to tide you over. Soon the Night Mother will arrive. And things around here are sure to get even more interesting."

Thorain smiled. Cicero must have given up on Dawnstar, realizing that it was hopeless to continue without a Listener. She made a note in the back of her mind to help maintain his madness so that the others wouldn't be put off by him." Astrid pushed off the doorframe. "Ah, but one last thing..." She walked to a nearby dresser and opened it, pulling out leather armor, black and red similar to Astrid's. "A welcome home present. The armor of the Dark Brotherhood. Probably different from those in Cheydinhal." She smirked. "May it serve you well in all your endeavors."

Thorain held the armor to her chest, smiling uncontrollably. "Be sure and introduce yourself to your new Family members. They're all very eager to meet you." Astrid allowed her to change her armor in the bedroom nearby. Her Thieves Guild armor was stored in her pack carefully and her pack was placed on the floor near the bookshelf for later when she got her own bed.

She wandered down the stairs, noticing the group of people gathered around a small child who was regaling them with a tale about her contract of an elderly man who seemed to also be a pedophile who made the mistake of offering her a candy. The story also made her realize that the girl was no mere child, but a vampire stuck eternally in the body of a child.

Nazir, as she found out, was a Redguard dressed similarly to the Alik'r complete with the scimitar. "So you're the newest member of our dwindling, dysfunctional little family. I've heard quite a bit about you," He greeted, crossing her arms. Looking her up and down, he shrugged.

"You've heard quite a bit about me? What have you heard?"

"Enough for me to know you're dangerous."

She smirked at the comment. "Astrid said you'd have some work for me."

"Did she, now? Well, as it turns out, there are a few lingering contracts we have had the chance to complete just yet. And more, dribbling in from time to time. I'll assign them to you as they become available. To be completed at your leisure." He tossed her a few scrolls.

Thorain frowned. "Ordinary contracts? These don't pay much."

"These aren't particularly glamorous assassinations, I'll be honest. And yes, they don't pay much. But they'll keep you busy. Just do them as you're able. There's no real time limit - the targets aren't going anywhere." Nazir gestured for her to follow. "You can turn each on in as it's completed, or wait and turn in the whole group when all the targets have been eliminated. Whichever works for you."

Thorain sighed, mildly annoyed that the contracts Nazir gave her were lesser people that no one would miss - a beggar named Narfi, an ex-miller named Ennodius Papius and some mine boss named Beitild, all people whose death would be a mere footnote in history.

She had to remind herself she was no longer in Cheydinhal and in a whole different Sanctuary than the one she grew up in. This was a new page for the Dark Brotherhood, so she'd have to adjust to the new rules.

As she chatted with the others, it became apparent that these new brothers and sisters seemed to _worship_ the ground Astrid walked on. Even stranger when she talked to Arnbjorn, Astrid’s werewolf husband, made an interesting statement about her, “You smell like those fanged morsels.”

Thorain was mildly surprised that he could smell the vampire blood inherited from her mother. Not much ran through her veins – enough to extend her lifespan for another 1000 years, not immortal like her mother (a life that was cut short regardless). She never considered herself one with too little of the blood to actually make her the definition of a vampire: she didn’t have fangs, she sure as hell didn’t crave blood and she didn’t have any of the powers associated with it. Maybe she felt the need to kill a bit more than normal people, but that was as far as it went.

She left the sanctuary to begrudgingly perform the contracts given, clutching her bow a little tighter than usual.

* * *

Thorain returned a few weeks later with news of completed contracts and a few marks for the Thieves Guild punched out to get them footholds in all of Skyrim’s major cities. The Guild never looked so good now that there were merchants and more would-be thieves running around. Delvin was more than ecstatic and Brynjolf praised her making her beam with joy. Vex didn’t really care, not that it wasn’t expected, but she did have more gold clinking around her in pocket because of the success.

Walking down the stairs, she heard a familiar shrill voice say, “But the Night Mother is mother to all! It is her voice we follow! Her will!” A smile crossed her face as she laid eyes on the jester she knew back in Cheydinhal addressing the remaining members of the Dark Brotherhood. “Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely… punishment?”

Arnbjorn gruffed out, “Keep talking, little man, and we’ll see who gets ‘punished’.”

Festus was having none of Arnbjorn’s attitude toward Cicero, “Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog. The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil. Mister Cicero, I, for one, am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition.”

Cicero looked pleased as a dog that got a bone. “Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are. Sure to earn our Lady’s favor.”

“You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero,” Astrid formally addressed, shooting her husband a warning glance. “And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper. Understood… husband?”

Arnbjorn just huffed and walked off to the nearby forge to make some repairs on his battleaxe. “Oh, yes, yes, yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Cicero chanted, hopping in place and clapping his hands. He reminded Thorain of a child, but when it came to his murderous tendencies she would rethink the child mentality.

“But make no mistake. I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?”

“Oh yes, mistress. Perfectly! You’re the boss.” Cicero didn’t like the idea, Thorain established. Neither did she at times, since it indirectly undermined the authority of a Listener, should they find one.

Astrid dismissed everyone and turned to face Thorain. “Ah, there you are. Good, I was done speaking to the muttering fool anyway.” Thorain held her tongue to prevent lashing out at Astrid for insulting Cicero. “We’ve got some business to discuss.”

“Do you have a contract for me?”

“I do indeed. You must go to the city of Markarth and speak with the apothecary’s assistant. You’ll probably find her in The Hag’s Cure, when the shop is open.”

 _Muiri_ , her head supplied. When she was in Markarth, she had robbed it blind, finding it the easiest way to make a statement. It got the attention of a silversmith who now was a fence. “The girl’s been running her mouth, wants an ex-lover killed. She’s apparently performed the Black Sacrament. Her name is Muiri. I need you to talk to her, set up the contract, and carry it out.”

“Anything else?”

“Just do whatever-“  
  
“Speaker!” Thorain nearly leapt out of her skin when Cicero wrapped his arms around her waist, hoisting her into the air and spun around cheering in happiness. Astrid’s eyes went wide at the sudden pounce on her newest member, watching as Thorain clamped her hands on Cicero’s shoulders to try and keep herself steady.

“Speaker?” Astrid questioned once Cicero finally put Thorain down.

“Ah, yes, I was a Speaker for the Black Hand back in Cheydinhal,” Thorain scratched the back of her head. She realized she had forgotten to mention that little tidbit to Astrid, since she hadn’t used the title in nearly two years.

For just a moment, Thorain could have sworn Astrid looked _nervous_. It’s not like her position gave her any power, because without a Listener she was no Speaker. Speakers acted just as their title implies: to speak to their Silencers or to pass along contracts to the Sanctuary masters to give to their assassins in their charge. The Listener truly had very little interaction with those not in the Black Hand.

But just as the nervous look appeared it was gone and Thorain was dismissed to carry out the contract for Muiri. She reported back to Nazir about the targets she eliminated and pocketed the coin.

Muiri was more than surprised when she appeared, hood and a partial facemask coving any substantial features. An ex-lover she wanted dead hiding out in a Dwarven ruin and the last remaining daughter of the Shatter-Shields Nilsine for a bonus. Easy enough with an added air of a challenge when it came to the Dwarven ruin.

When the deed was done though, Muiri made her feel... _uncomfortable_ when she presented the assassin with her ring. “As a token of her affection,” Muiri had said. The trinket was quickly sold to a nearby jewelry booth so that she may never have to picture Muiri’s ever-longing gaze at her. The woman was clearly not thinking straight to try and bed the _assassin_ that murdered her ex-lover. Normally Thorain wasn’t above sleeping with strangers should they suit her fancy, but the thought of Muiri did not sit well in the pit of her stomach.

She left Markarth swiftly, deciding it be best to not return for a while unless it was absolutely necessary.

“Ah, so you’re back,” Astrid greeted when she returned to the Sanctuary. “So how went your real contract? A bit more exciting than what Nazir’s been offering, I’d wager.”

“It feels good to be back in the swing of things,” Thorain answered honestly. “And I’m sorry for not saying that I was a Speaker. I felt it unnecessary since there is no Listener for me to be Speaker.”

Astrid waved a hand in dismissal. “Think nothing of it. I understand your reasoning behind it. Now, I need your assistance with a matter of a more...” She trailed off before finishing, “...personal nature.”

Thorain’s brows furrowed. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s Cicero.” The Dunmer held back a sigh. “Ever since he arrived, his behavior’s been... Well, erratic would be an understatement. I do believe he is truly mad.”

Thorain nodded. “When I met him on the road before, I knew he was not the same Cicero that I knew back in Cheydinhal.”

“But it’s worse than that. He’s taken to locking himself in the Night Mother’s chamber, and talking. To someone. In hushed, but frantic tones. Who is he speaking with? What are they planning? I fear treachery.”

Thorain crossed her arms. “Astrid, you’re being a bit... paranoid. Cicero doesn’t really _connect_ with anyone else. Maybe Festus, but he’s been here the longest and I know you trust him. All of them follow _you_ , Astrid.”

“My paranoia has kept this Family alive. You must understand. If Cicero is turning the others against me... against us... Our Family would not survive such division.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Dear sister, I need you to steal into that chamber, and eavesdrop on their meeting. It’ll be no use clinging to the shadows. They’ll see you for sure. No, you need a hiding place. Somewhere they’d never think to look.” Thorain had a feeling she would not like what Astrid had in mind. “Like inside the Night Mother’s coffin.” Yep, she definitely did not like what Astrid had in mind.

Astrid took her shocked silence as approval. “No objections, then? Good. Go now. Before they meet. And report back to me with whatever you learn.” Astrid then disappeared into the master bedroom.

The corner of Thorain’s mouth twitched. “What in Azura’s name just happened?”

Begrudgingly, she wandered into the Night Mother’s chamber, still beating herself up for allowing this to occur. Picking the lock to the coffin, she opened it to find the remains of the Night Mother, her mouth open in what seemed like an eternal scream, her body wrapped in linen and secured in place by rope. This was who her mother conversed with before her death in the tomb.

Whining in distaste, she slipped inside and closed the doors behind her, pressing herself against the closed doors as gently as possible to keep away from the corpse of the dead woman. Disrespectful she screamed at herself. Her mother would be rolling over in her grave if she could see her. Or laughing. Either way.

She silenced her breathing when she heard the soft and cheerful humming of Cicero as he entered the room and locked the doors. “Are we alone?” She heard him ask. “Yes... yes... alone,” Cicero belted out a laugh. “Sweet solitude. No one will hear us, disturb us. Everything is going according to plan. The others... I’ve spoken to them. And they’re coming around, I know it. The wizard, Festus Krex... perhaps even the Argonian, and the un-child...”

Cicero’s voice dropped to an almost disappointed tone, “What about you? Have you... have you spoken to anyone? No... No, of course not. I do the talking, the stalking, the seeing and the saying!” He turned angry for a few moments, “And what do you do?! Nothing! Not...” He sighed. “Not that I’m angry! No, never! Cicero understands. Heh, Cicero always understands! And obeys! You will talk when you’re ready, won’t you. Won’t you... sweet Night Mother.”

 _“Poor Cicero.”_ Thorain clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent herself from screaming at the voice in her head. The Night Mother... did she really just _speak_ to her?! _“Dear Cicero. Such a humble servant. But he will never hear my voice. For he is not the Listener.”_

“Oh, but how can I defend you?” Cicero exclaimed. “How can I exert your will? If you will not speak? To anyone!”

The Night Mother seemed amused. _“Oh, but I will speak. I will speak to you. For you are the one. Yes, you. You, who shares my iron tomb, who warms my ancient bones. I give you this task – journey to Volunruud. Speak with Amaund Motierre.”_

“Poor Cicero has failed you. Poor Cicero is sorry, sweet mother. I’ve tried, so very hard. But I just can’t find the Listener!” He sounded like he was on the brink of tears and Thorain just wanted to take him in her arms and tell him everything is all right.

_“Tell Cicero the time has come. Tell him the words he has been waiting for, all these years, the very words I told your mother before you: ‘Darkness rises when silence dies’.”_

She stumbled out backwards when the doors of the coffin were opened. Cicero let her fall to her back, staring at her like she had betrayed him in every sense of his existence. “What? What treachery! From the Speaker! Defiler! Debaser and defiler! You have violated the sanctity of the Night Mother’s coffin! Explain yourself!” He finished by spitting out, “Speak, worm!”

She slowly stood up as to not antagonize him further. “The Night Mother spoke to me,” She explained. “She said, ‘I am the one.’.”

Cicero blinked at the statement. “She... spoke to you? More trickery and deceit! You lie! The Night Mother speaks only to the Listener! And there is... no... Listener!” He squeezed his eyes tightly closed and boxed his head with his fists, confused and unaware of what he should do.

She gently grabbed his wrists stopping him from hurting himself. “Cicero,” She called gently to get his attention. “’Darkness rises when silence dies.’”

“She... she said that? She said those words... to you? ‘Darkness rises when silence dies’? But those are the words. The Binding Words. Written in the Keeping Tomes. The signal so I would know. Mother’s only way of talking to sweet Cicero...” She suddenly lost her grip on his wrists and he grabbed her hands. “Then... it is true!” He spun her around in a macabre dance, exclaiming, “Our Lady is back! She has chosen a Listener! She had chosen a Listener!” He laughed and grabbed her shoulders lightly shaking her. “She has chosen you! Ha ha ha! All hail the Listener!”

The doors leading into the chamber were broken open by Arnbjorn and Astrid charged in, her husband wandering off grumbling about mad clowns. “By Sithis, this ends now! Back away, fool! Whatever you’ve been planning is over!” Cicero released Thorain and backed away, allowing Astrid to pull the Dunmer away from the mad jester. “Are you all right?” She questioned, examining Thorain for any injuries. “I heard the commotion. Who was Cicero talking to? Where’s the accomplice?” The blonde didn’t let Thorain answered before she was yelling out, “Reveal yourself, traitor!”  
  
Cicero seemed offended that Astrid was branding him a traitor. “I spoke only to the Night Mother! I spoke to the Night Mother, but she didn’t speak to me. Oh no. She spoke only to her! To the Listener!”

“What? The Listener?” Astrid looked at Thorain like she had suddenly turned into an Orc or something. “What are you going on about? What is this lunacy?”

“It’s true, it’s true! The Night Mother has spoken! The silence has been broken! The Listener has been chosen!”

Astrid ignored his ramblings and spoke gently to Thorain. “When I heard Cicero screaming, I knew you’d been discovered. I feared the worst. Are you all right?”

Thorain said nothing, still trying to process everything that happened. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” the mistress of the Sanctuary commented. “Please tell me you haven’t. Cicero said he spoke to the Night Mother... but she spoke to you?”

“Despite this seeming like lunacy, yes, it’s true. The Night Mother spoke to me. She said I was _the one_.”

“What? So Cicero wasn’t talk to anyone else. Just... the Night Mother’s body? And the Night Mother, who, according to everything we know, will only speak to the person chosen as Listener... just spoke. Right now... to you?”

“That just about sums it up.”

“By Sithis... And what did she say?”

“I must speak to someone named Amaund Motierre, in Volunruud.”

“Amaund Motierre? I have no idea who that is. But Volunruud... that I have heard of. And I know where it is.”

Thorain nodded, looking over at Cicero who was gazing at her expectantly. “So, should I go to Volunruud? I should talk to this man?”

Astrid seemed conflicted. “Hmm? No. No! Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you take your orders from me. Are we clear on that?” She said firmly. She was starting to panic but did a good job at hiding it. “The Night Mother may have spoken to you, but I am still the leader of this Family. I will not have my authority so easily dismissed.”

“Astrid, have you lost your mind?” Thorain questioned. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing! I don’t want to be Listener but I am. We are the only Sanctuary left in all of Skyrim, no, all of Tamriel! The Dark Brotherhood without the Night Mother is just a band of cutthroats!”

“I…” Astrid stammered. “I need some time to think about all this. Go see Nazir – do some work for him. I’ll find you when I’m ready to discuss the matter further.” Astrid stormed off before Thorain could argue more with her.

Anger bubbled up like a stew, but all Thorain could do was glare at the door Astrid disappeared through.

Growling out loud in frustration, she left Cicero in the chamber to do as Astrid ordered. A bard and a vampire were her targets. Woopdi-fucking-do.


	7. No Rest for the Wicked

Thorain had taken her anger out on Gulum-Ei.  
  
The lizard didn’t even know who he was pissing off more than she already was when he dared to lie saying he didn’t know who he was being the go-between for. She knew damn well that he knew who the person was which resulted in a shadow-crawl through the East Empire Company storehouse, through caverns and drudging through an underground waterway.  
  
She had swiped quite a few items of value in the process, vowing to come back later to pick the place clean. Gulum-Ei tried all he could to put as many guards between her and him, but that failed with a few well-placed arrows. He let out a screech and tried to make a break for the entrance to the grotto, but was cut off when Thorain ran along the cages and dropped down in front of him, an arrow notched and ready to fly.  
  
“Tell me who your contact is!” Thorain demanded – angry, frustrated and tired of everything, especially the dodging of this blasted Argonian.  
  
“Y-You… You won’t kill me,” Gulum-Ei stammered, backing up from the pissed-off Dunmer.  
  
“No,” She replaced her arrow in its quiver and shouldered her bow. “…but there is a lot that the body can endure!” She shouted, spinning on her heel and roundhouse kicking him square in the jaw. Gulum-Ei hit the side railing of the pathway and fell to his backside. “Want to find out?”  
  
He scooted on his hind end with a hand held up in a weak defense. “No wait-!”  
  
“I am done playing games, Gulum-Ei. Tell me who your contact is or I will pluck your scales off one by one.” She stepped hard on his tail earning a loud yelp. He swallowed hard, opening and closing his mouth like he was debating whether or not he should tell. The result was her grinding her heel into the flesh of his tail.  
  
“All right! All right! I’ll tell you! Just… Just let go of my tail.”  
  
“Tell me first and I’ll decide if I let you keep your tail.”  
  
“It’s Karliah! Her name is Karliah.”  
  
Thorain cocked an eyebrow. “You say that name like I’m supposed to know it.”  
  
Gulum-Ei blinked in a confused manner. “Mercer never told you about her? Karliah is the thief responsible for murdering the previous Guild Master, Gallus. Now she’s after Mercer.”  
  
“And you’re helping her?”  
  
“Help…? No, no! Look, I didn’t even know it was her until after she contacted me. Please, you have to believe me!”  
  
“Where is Karliah now?”  
  
“I don’t know. When I asked her where she was going, she just muttered, ‘Where the end began’.” He scrambled for his pockets. “Here, take the Goldenglow Estate Deed as proof. And when you speak to Mercer, tell him I’m worth more to him alive.”  
  
Her foot came off his tail and he quickly gathered it up to nurse and protect from Thorain’s offending boot. “Was that so hard?” She questioned, pocketing the deed. Her anger had dropped to a low boil, but it didn’t qualify to kill the Argonian. He still was useful.  
  
Turning on her heel she walked towards the grotto, Gulum-Ei shouting after her, “That’s it? You threaten my physical health and that’s it? You just leave?”  
  
She looked over her shoulder at him and said, “Double cross the Guild and I’ll be back, lizard. Don’t skimp out on our cut.” She left him standing there, ignoring the few horkers that resided in the grotto.  
  
She thought for a brief moment that maybe Gulum-Ei didn’t deserve to have his tail nearly crushed, but she shoved the notion in a deep dark chasm in her mind to never see the light of day again.  
  
On her way back to Riften, she stopped to pay a visit to her contracts, Lurburk nearly blowing out her eardrums while she waited patiently for him to go to his room. No wonder people wanted him dead: he was a terrible bard with the voice of a strangled cat. The vampires were not too difficult despite Nazir’s word of caution, not that she expected anything.  
  
What she truly didn't expect, was the dark haired Companion that wouldn't leave her alone when she was in Whiterun wandering the wilderness with a woman with twin stripes donning her cheeks - warpaint. The Companions seemed obsessed with it. Maybe she could use some to cover up the scar that ran from just above her eyebrow across her eyelid and to her cheek - a wound from a botched contract, the one that sent her out a window and made her develop hydrophobia.  
  
"Thorain," He greeted warmly, a big cheeky grin on his face.  
  
"It seems you remember my name, Companion."  
  
He crossed his arms and stood closer to her than she was comfortable with. "I thought I told you to call me Farkas."  
  
The woman snorted and rolled her eyes at being ignored. She left the two of them alone muttering about seeing Farkas back in Whiterun. "And I thought I made it clear that I want you to leave me alone?" She retorted, continuing her trek towards Riften.  
  
"And you didn't give me a good reason," Farkas replied, jogging until he was right next to Thorain in stride. "All you've said is that you're 'not someone of honor'. And yet, you talk with the same... polish like my brother."  
  
"Then speak to your brother about it. He could probably spell it out for you to understand."  
  
"At least tell me where you're going?"  
  
Thorain stopped and let out an annoyed sigh. "What do you want from me, Farkas?"  
  
"I want to know you. I want to know more about you than just your name." The answer was as honest as anything she's ever heard. This Nord seemed bent on driving her nuts until he got what he wanted.  
  
"Give me one good reason as to why you want to 'know me'?" Thorain demanded, crossing her arms and walking off again.  
  
His steel armor clanked as he continued to follow her. "Because you're someone worth knowing."  
  
Her heart skipped a beat. "Farkas, that's... sweet, but I'm definitely not someone you want to associate with. You're a Companion, from a group of warriors who never hurt the innocent and live for glory. I'm one that stalks from the shadows and for the right price anyone's a target. The exact opposite of what your group stands for."  
  
"What if I don't care?"  
  
"Then you're mind is gone." Farkas lightly grabbed her arm, stopping her walk. "What now?"  
  
"Shh..." He hushed, sniffing the air making her cock an eyebrow. A twig cracked in the trees around them, putting her immediately on alert.  
  
A battle cry rang out and within moments, several heavily armored men and women wielding what appeared to be silver swords burst from the woods in a guerilla attack. The two were surrounded in seconds. "Is he one of them?!" One shouted out.  
  
"No idea. But he wears that armor so he dies!" The apparent leader answered.  
  
Thorain's daggers were out, standing back to back with Farkas who had a greatsword in hand ready to swing should any get too close. "What of the girl?"  
  
"She's with him, she dies as well!"  
  
Farkas growled out, "You won't live long enough to get a hit."  
  
Thorain stumbled away from him when she heard bones break and skin tear, armor breaking, his body sprouting what appeared to be fur, his hands growing claws. "Werewolves... Now I've seen everything..." She muttered.  
  
Farkas, now in the form of a werewolf, tore apart the group of silver sword wielding attackers. Not a single person was able to escape the beast. She would have admired the sight, if she wasn't clear that Farkas was clear of mind and didn't see her as a target as well. Blood staining the beast's fur, it turned on Thorain and approached her on all fours. "Farkas?" She questioned, slowly raising her daggers.  
  
The beast let out a dog-like whine and in a flurry of breaking bones and skin, Farkas was back in human skin, naked as the day he was born. She flushed and looked in a different direction than the man standing before her. "I... I didn't mean to scare you. Sorry," He apologized, stealing steel armor from one of the fells attackers.  
  
"Who were those men? They seemed to know who you are," She questioned, not looking at Farkas until he was dressed.  
  
"They're called the Silver Hand and they hunt werewolves."  
  
"Like you."  
  
"Like me."  
  
Thorain gave a pathetic laugh and commented, "Skyrim is full of surprises. First vampires, now werewolves."  
  
"You're not... You're not afraid."  
  
"I think my heart lept out of my chest as first, but no, not anymore." She was honest at least.  
  
Without further argument, she allowed Farkas to accompany her to Riften.

* * *

Arriving at the Thieves Guild was a welcoming sight away from the Dark Brotherhood for a while until Astrid collected her mind once again and she was sure she lost Farkas in Riften. She dodged Dirge and Thrynn fist fighting and arguing over who was stronger and stood in front of Mercer’s desk, dropping the deed to Goldenglow Estate on his desk catching his attention.  
  
“Did Gulum-Ei give up any information on our buyer?” He asked, picking up the document.  
  
“He said Goldenglow was purchased by a ‘Karliah’,” Thorain answered, watching the shock reach Mercer’s eyes.  
  
“No, it… It can’t be. I haven’t heard that name in decades. This is grave news indeed, she’s someone I hoped to never cross paths with again.”  
  
“Gulum-Ei also told me she was a murderer.”  
  
“Karliah destroyed everything this Guild stood for,” He growled. “She murdered my predecessor in cold blood and betrayed the Guild. After we discovered what she’d done, we spent months trying to track her down, but she just vanished.”  
  
This Karliah was turning out to be worse than she pictured. “Why has she returned?”  
  
“Karliah and I were like partners. I went with her on every heist. We watched each other’s backs. I know her techniques, her skills. If she kills me, there’ll be no one left that could possibly catch her. If only we knew where she was…” Mercer rubbed his fingers against his temples.  
  
Thorain crossed her arms and said, “Gulum-Ei told me she said, ‘Where the end began’.”  
  
Mercer perked up again. “There’s only one place that could be. The place where she murdered Gallus… a ruin called Snow Veil Sanctum. We have to go out there before she disappears again.”  
  
She blinked. “Wait… We?”  
  
“Yes, I’m going with you and together we’re going to kill her.” He tossed a coin purse at her. “Here’s your payment for Solitude. Prepare yourself and meet me at the ruins as soon as you can. We can’t let her slip through our fingers.”  
  
Mercer stormed off to the mausoleum entrance and was gone before she realized it.  
  
“What in the Nine just happened…?” She questioned herself before walking over to the bed she claimed as her own.  
  
“Lass?” She looked up at Brynjolf who stood at the end of the bed. “Any reason as to why Mercer left in a hurry?”  
  
“We’re apparently going to Snow Veil Sanctum.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“To track down Karliah.”  
  
Brynjolf’s eyes got wide. “Karliah? She’s back?”  
  
Thorain sighed. “It’s seems everyone knows this Karliah except for me. Gulum-Ei assumed I knew her. Mercer didn’t give me much of an explanation as to who she is. He was only shocked and volun-told me that I'm going with him to Snow Veil Sanctum." She laid back on her bed. "I don't like it. I've got a bad feeling about all this."  
  
"You don't have to like it. But still... be careful out there."  
  
"Careful's my middle name." She smiled up at him. "Besides, I have enough arrows to give this Karliah a what-for."  
  
"Karliah is a master marksman," He jested, egging her on and giving her that playful smirk of his.  
  
She returned the smirk. "Well, I'm up for a worthy opponent. I trained since the day I could string a bow. I never miss."  
  
Brynjolf laughed and shook his head. "Well, if you're intent to go, I got a present for you. For pulling the Guild out of this streak of bad luck we had." He held out his hand, "My lady," He mockingly said in an overtly 'mannered' voice.  
  
Thorain rolled her eyes and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

* * *

 

It was starting to get cold again, so Thorain figured she was nearing Windhelm. Her horse gave a snort in protest to the cold and she patted the mare's neck. Brynjolf's gift was not what she expected when they showed up at the stables and Shadr took off like he had seen a ghost. Her fellow thief and mentor proceeded to pull a blonde mare from her stall.  
  
"Come on, Elviane, we're almost there," Thorain reassured her mare, kicking the horse into motion.  
  
Snow Veil Sanctum was a lot farther than she originally anticipated and it took several superstitious farmers to point her in the right direction – that was when they even decided that a Dunmer was worth their time.  
  
Mercer was waiting for her, having beaten her there. Nearby she could see a dead horse, its throat cut and the snow around it stained red. Elviane neighed at the sight and Thorain tried her best to reassure that wouldn’t happen to her.  
  
“Good, you’re finally here,” Mercer ‘greeted’. “I’ve scouted the ruins and I’m certain Karliah is still inside.”  
  
“You saw her?” She asked, dismounting from her horse. She followed Mercer closer to the domed ruin.  
  
“No, I found her horse. Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of it… she won’t be using it to escape.”  
  
“Was killing the horse really necessary? You seem quite sure we’ll corner her in the ruin,” Thorain mildly protested, grimacing at dead horse.  
  
“Never mind the horse. Let’s get moving. I want to catch her inside while she’s distracted. Take the lead.”  
  
Thorain blinked repeatedly. “You want me to lead?”  
  
“Yes, I want you to lead,” He emphasized, his annoyance showing. “Brynjolf swears up and down that you’re the best infiltrator next to Vex. Just make sure you keep your eyes open. Karliah is as sharp as a blade.”  
  
Thorain slightly blushed at being called the ‘best infiltrator’ by Brynjolf. He probably said it to get under Vex’s skin, but given that she got into Goldenglow and Vex couldn’t really did give credit to her skills.  
  
Together, they walked down the spiral staircase until they came to the door only to find it curved bars over the entrance making it near impossible to get in. “They say that these ancient Nordic burial mounds are sometimes impenetrable,” Mercer explained. He examined the door and said, “This one doesn’t look too difficult. Quite simple really, I don’t know what the fuss is about these locks. All it takes is a bit of know how and a lot of skill.” He knelt down and started fumbling with what she guessed was the lock. “That should do it,” He announced after a click and the bars swiveled away. “After you.”  
  
She shouldered open the door, releasing dust and a musty smell associated with death and decay. Not a pleasant stench. Mercer made a comment about it on their way into the gut of the tomb. It became apparent that Karliah had reset all the traps in the tomb when they came to a closed gate with a swinging spike wall mounted mere inches from it with the pull chain stuck in between the two. She gestured for Mercer to stand back and she pressed her back against the gate.  
  
She reached over and pulled the chain, flattening herself against the opening gate in a second as the spike wall came flying at her. It stopped just an inch from her before resetting itself. Mercer looked impressed.  
  
Mercer was not one for stealth, she realized, as his footsteps awoken two Draugr Deathlords that were a pain in the ass to take down. And he couldn’t avoid traps to save his life.  
  
They came to a room with bone chimes attached to the ceiling, designed to awake the Draugr who stood upright in their coffins that lined the walls. She easily kept low and avoided them. Mercer tried to copy her footsteps, but his broad shoulders hit a few of the bone charms awakening the Draugr. Thorain was ready to tear her hair out, wondering how in the Nine he became Guild Master. Sure he could pick a lock like no one she had seen before, but his skills in stealth were equal to a drunken mammoth in a pottery store.  
  
She had her fill of kleptomania though, rubbing a cloth over a golden boat she swiped from a booby trapped pedestal. Maybe swiping a golden model boat from pedestal with oil all over the floor and jars of burning oil hanging from the ceiling wasn’t the smartest of ideas, but she just had to have the golden boat. The boat was put into her back carefully and they went on.  
  
She cursed aloud when they came to the bane of most tomb raiders’ existence: a Nordic rotating puzzle door. Without the claw key for the slot and the combination, these doors were nearly impenetrable.  
  
Mercer was undeterred.  
  
He knelt down in front key slot and Thorain watched in amazement as the Nordic puzzle door slid down. She silently made a vow to get Mercer to teach her how to do that once this was all done and over with. She notched an arrow and waited for Mercer to give her the go-ahead to take the lead. With a flick of his wrist, she stepped carefully inside the final room of the Sanctum.  
  
Pain exploded in her side and her limbs went stiff. Catching the fletching of an arrow protruding from her side, she fell to her knees as the paralytic poison finished rendering her immobile before landing on her side on the ground. She struggled to get anything to move and she was surprised she could even breathe and blink at this moment. "Do you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?" Mercer questioned and Thorain quickly realized there was another person in the room: Karliah.  
  
"Give me a reason to try," Karliah nearly growled.  
  
"You're a clever girl, Karliah. Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired," Mercer seemed to taunt. What was he doing?  
  
"'To ensure and enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies'," She quoted. "It was the first lesson Gallus taught us."  
  
"You always were a quick study."  
  
"Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive."  
  
Now Thorain understood: Karliah didn't kill Gallus and from the way Mercer was acting, it became apparent that the true killer of Gallus was Mercer.  
  
"Gallus had wealth and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way."  
  
"Did you forget the Oath we took as Nightingales? Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?"  
  
"Enough of this mindless banter!" What she said must have struck a nerve. "Come, Karliah. It's time for you and Gallus to become reunited!"  
  
Thorain could see Karliah reach into her back pocket and pull out a small vial, downing it quickly. With a flash, Karliah was invisible. "I'm no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I promise the next we meet, it will be your undoing."  
  
"How interesting. It appears Gallus's history has repeated itself," Mercer mused. Thorain's trained eye could see the Dunmer thief slip away, a mere ripple across the stone. If Mercer had the same perception as she, he could have seen her too.  
  
Thorain watched as the traitorous Guild Master approached her until he was standing over her paralyzed form. She twitched in a desperate attempt to get away, knowing that he would not drag her out of there after what she had been witness to. "Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place. But do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible because of you." The blade was pulled out just as Thorain expected. "Farwell. I'll be certain to give Brynjolf your regards."  
  
Her heart nearly shattered at the thought of Brynjolf: her mentor and friend and the brother she never had. The man who worked his way past her walls and showed her familial love that she only felt with her mother. A single tear fell across her cheek before the blade pierced her chest. It wasn't a killing blow, meaning he was going to leave her here to die slowly.  
  
She tried to force herself to stay awake, but it was a losing battle. She managed to finally turn on her back, slow the bleeding she thought to herself, her hand slowly sliding over the wound. Little by little she got her ability to move back finding herself able to lift her head, but it was in vain.  
  
Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and the back of her skull cracked against the stone floor.

* * *

_"Welcome back, Thorain!" Garnag called out, waving at her from his task of sharpening his dagger. Andronica didn't seem to notice her, mumbling plans for a contract she recieved from Adrianne the day prior._   
  
_Rasha only gave a small wave as she passed his desk._   
  
_"Thorain," Arianne greeted, catching the Dunmer's attention._   
  
_"Listener," Thorain bowed her head respectfully._   
  
_The Imperial woman smiled, "You know you don't have to call me that. I thought we were friends?"_   
  
_"We are. Gotta keep up appearances. Is my mother here?"_   
  
_Arianne gestured to the room at the end of the hall they stood in. "She's in her rooms of course. Her and I are going to the statue tomorrow and she's preparing for the travel. We're going to stay a week to get all the names we can. As always, you're in charge until we get back."_   
  
_"Understood. Safe travels, Arianne."_   
  
_She made her way down the dark hallway, familiar since she was a small, giggling young girl until she came to the dark wooden door. She gave knock to alert the resident inside she was coming in. "Mother?" Thorain asked, entering her mother's chambers._   
  
_Her mother, running a brush through her long blood red hair, glanced at her through the looking glass. Thorain always loved her mother's hair; soft and long. As a child, Thorain used to weave flowers through it. Mostly deathbells and nightshades, but her mother still loved it all the same. Her mother's robe made her hair stand out like a sore thumb, black with red markings of the Dark Brotherhood. The robes also showed her status as a member of the Black Hand. "Yes dear?"_   
  
_"I've completed the contract."_   
  
_"And from what I've heard, no one was the wiser that it was nothing more than a freak accident. Well done," She praised, smiling at her daughter. She picked up a coin purse from the vanity and tossed it to her. "Here's your payment for a job well done."_   
  
_Thorain caught it easily. Her mind then wandered to what she overheard a couple of high ranking officials in the courts griping about. "Mother, there's... there's something I have to ask you. Something... personal."_   
  
_"Anything. I'm an open book."_   
  
_"During the contract, I happened to eavesdrop on a conversation."_   
  
_"And?" Her mother asked expectantly._   
  
_Thorain sighed. She hoped this wouldn't be some earth-shattering revelation once she asked what she needed to. "They mentioned you. And the child of Martin Septim." She saw her mother sigh deeply. "They said you stole away with the bastard child. Is that true? Is that child... me?"_   
  
_"No," She answered honestly. "50 years ago, I knew Martin Septim. 50 years ago, I watched him die. I could say he was one of my best friends. Is he your father? No. I never slept with the man, so how could he be your father? The councilors didn't believe me. I could've screamed it from the ramparts and they wouldn't have believed me. They hounded me for weeks, trying to get me to admit it. When it came time for you to be born, I asked the only friend I had left anymore to help me escape the Imperial City unnoticed. Baurus was my saving grace. With the assistance of the Thieves Guild, we escaped the city and I returned here, to Cheydinhal and the Dark Brotherhood."_   
  
_"Who is my father then?"_   
  
_"You may have heard of him from the others. Your father's name is Lucien Lachance."_


	8. Righting a Betrayal

Muiri gave Thorain a small smile when she passed her in the Silver-Blood Inn. She paid the young woman no mind and paid for a room to rest from her travelling, to fix her bandages and try again to magically close the wound which was proving more difficult than she expected. She tossed her heavy pack on the floor near her bed and tore off her cuirass to expose the crude bandages Karliah wrapped her in. already being coated in blood.

Thorain’s hand glowed with a healing spell, her fingers dancing over her chest wound. It wouldn’t heal properly which made her wonder what exactly was enchanted on Mercer’s blade. It was one thing to heal a wound, it was another to bring back _dead_ cells to try and mend the wound. It was a painfully slow process.

What Enthir expected her to do was not going to help in the least. She hoped this research was worth it.

She rewrapped the wound as tight as she could when she felt her magicka fall low, the wound no closer to sealing. “Why does this keep happening to me?” She questioned, pulling her cuirass back on.

* * *

Stepping into the laboratory, she was amazed at the amount of charcoal and paper scattered around on nearly every surface, some with etchings and words unfamiliar to her, others with diagrams and mathematics. Picking up a few books written about the Dwemer – technology or architecture – she read brief passages in the books, finding the collection extraordinary.

A giant stone tablet caught her attention. Marked on it were the same symbols from Gallus’ journal and their translations below each sentence in a language she could read. There was no way she was dragging this giant stone tablet out of this place without being spotted, so she walked back into the main room and grabbed a couple of blank sheets of paper and some charcoal and took etchings of as much of the tablet as she could. Storing it in a pocket, she ducked behind the tablet when she heard the doors fling open and in walked Calcelmo and the captain of the guard with several other guards. “Fan out! They’re probably still in here!” The Captain ordered and the guards fanned out, most heading for the stairs that led up to the study.

Taking a few steps back, she sprinted forward, jumping and landing on a nearby ledge. She glanced down to see if anyone had noticed and saw no indication that they did. Leaping to another very thin ledge, she shimmied across until she was well past the guards standing between her and the door. She leapt down and landed almost completely silent.

Escaping through the door, she ducked around the corner as guards burst out, hearing the door close behind them and further down the path into the rest of the laboratory and museum in search of her. Thorain sighed and turned to her only means of escape: a rocky outcropping that overlooked a deep pool of water at the body.

“Again with the water…” She groaned, gritting her teeth. Her heart pounded in her chest at the thought of potentially drowning. The door banged open behind her and shouts echoed through the skywalk. Shaking her head and biting the arrowhead, she took a deep breath and leapt over the side. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath much less scream until she hit the water and flailed pathetically to reach _something_ of a foothold to pull herself out.

A hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her clear out of the water with strength no one should possess. Until she realized that it was Ghorza gra-Bagol who pulled her out and the inhuman strength made sense now. “You making a habit of nearly drowning, Dunmer?” The Orc questioned, pulling Thorain up on the cobblestone bridge.

“Not particularly…” She groaned, getting up to her knees and wringing out her hair again. She was beginning to question Skyrim’s need to constantly dunk her in water, apparently wanting to send her to an early grave or torment her for its kicks.

She returned to her rented room to stay incognito for a moment and to dry off her leather armor. She contemplated saying 'screw it' to all this and return to Riften, but she had no idea what awaited her there - what lies Mercer had told the Guild, whether she had betrayed them or that she was killed by Karliah, she couldn't know for sure. She didn't even dare ask the fences or her contacts in fear that Mercer told the lie that she betrayed them and they would report back to the Guild that the 'traitor' was seen in Markarth or some such. It was a 50/50 chance.

The ride back to Winterhold was quiet after she managed to get her leather armor dried and her underclothes dried as well. The charcoal etching had survived, a little wet around the edges, but otherwise it was perfectly fine.

Enthir was ecstatic when she arrived and handed him the charcoal etching and set to work immediately. He hovered over the charcoal tracing she retrieved, in the process of deciphering Gallus’ journal Karliah had given her.

Thorain sat on a chair nearby and glanced around, noting the absence of Karliah. How long did it take to put Gallus’ remains to rest and get to Winterhold? Snow Veil Sanctum was not far from Winterhold (it took her all of an hour to get here on horse back meaning it take about 3 to walk here).

She shook her head and pulled her cuirass off again leaving her in a thin shirt. She called up a healing spell and concentrated on knitting her skin back together which was still a slow process. Enthir hummed in fascination with the Falmer text and the words written in Gallus’ journal.

The events of these last couple of days did not favor on her mood.

First she wakes up feeling considerably weak in only her small clothes and Karliah dabbing a cloth over her chest wound to try and staunch the bleeding after stitching the wound closed. When she finally had the strength to move, Karliah immediately sent her to find Enthir and ask him if he would be able to translate Gallus’ journal, which would have been fine except Enthir couldn’t since the language was written in the Falmer tongue which had been dead for more than a thousand years. The only person who had the means to decipher it was a cranky mage in Markarth who wouldn’t let her see his work forcing her to break into his laboratory, get a tracing of his work and sneak back out before they could arrest her.

This led to her being fished out of a waterway after jumping from the walkway by the Orc blacksmith she had helped before with retrieving a book. She nearly drowned yet again. This did not help her hydrophobia in the least.

Then she rode Elviane all the way back to Winterhold where Karliah was _still_ not there even with the promise that she’d meet Thorain there. All with this injury that seemed to refuse to heal no matter what magic she performed on it.

Her patience with Karliah was running thin.

“I’ve almost finished,” Enthir reported scribbling above Gallus’ handwriting the translations.

“Good.” Thorain glowered at Karliah who finally made an appearance. “Did you get anything from it?”

“It’s… intriguing, but highly disturbing,” He answered honestly, running a hand through his auburn hair. “It appears that Gallus had suspicions about Mercer Frey’s allegiance to the Guild for months. Gallus had begun to uncover what he calls an ‘…unduly lavish lifestyle replete with spending vast amounts of gold on personal pleasures’.”

“Does the journal say where this wealth came from?”

Thorain gave up on her endeavors in healing her wound for the day, feeling her magicka stores depleting. She stood from the nearby bench and stood next to Karliah crossing her arms. “Yes…” Enthir’s mouth twisted into a frown. “Gallus seems certain that Mercer had been removing funds from the Guild’s treasury without anyone’s knowledge.”

“Anything else, Enthir? Anything about… the Nightingales?”

Enthir flipped through a few pages before settling on one. “Yes, here it is. The last few pages seem to describe ‘the failure of the Nightingales’ although it doesn’t go into great detail. Gallus also repeatedly mentions his strong belief that Mercer desecrated something known as the Twilight Sepulcher.”

Karliah sighed heavily. “Shadows preserve us. So it’s true…”

Enthir seemed just as confused as Thorain. “I’m not familiar with the Twilight Sepulcher. What is it? What’s Mercer Frey done?”

“I’m sorry, Enthir, I can’t say. All that matters is we deliver your translation to the Guild immediately. Farewell, Enthir… words can’t express-“

“It’s alright, Karliah,” Enthir cut her off. “You don’t have to say a word.” Enthir gestured for Thorain to step closer and Karliah walked off a little to give them some space. “Listen, all I want is the truth to be revealed to the Guild. They respected Karliah, and she deserves better. Do whatever you can and I’d consider it a personal favor.”

“I guess I should thank you, Enthir.”

He nodded. “If trying to rid yourself of stolen goods becomes a burden and you find yourself in Winterhold, visit me at the College. I’ve been known to handle items of _questionable_ interest from time to time and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’ll be sure to stop in.” She turned to Karliah and said, “Let’s go.”

“I’m surprised you’re not asking about the Twilight Sepulcher.”

“Honestly, I don’t care. It’s something Mercer broke and I’m going to end up fixing it. Not my first time around the block.”

Karliah only smiled at the response, despite how snappy it sounded. “Then at the very least, I can give you this.” Karliah untied a sword from her belt and handed it to Thorain. The same bird crest she’d seen before was engraved here the blade met the hilt and buzzed with an energy meaning an enchantment had been graced on the blade.

They both stepped outside and Thorain was quick to notice there was not another horse standing beside Elviane. “Where’s your horse?”

“Dead, remember?” Karliah answered.

Thorain sighed and hopped into the saddle of her horse before holding out her hand. “Come on,” She said. Karliah took her hand and allowed her fellow Dunmer to pull her on to the back of the saddle, wrapping her arms around Thorain’s waist to keep herself on.

They were nearly to Riften when Karliah pointed out, “You’re wound has opened again. We need to tend to it.” Elviane even seemed to want to slow down to help her owner.

Thorain was well aware the wound had opened again. She could feel the blood sticking to her leather armor and dripped down her chest to her stomach and it started about a mile back. She was not about to stop. There was no way in Azura’s Might that she was going to let Mercer get away again. Karliah was smart enough to catch on to her silence and did not bring up the subject anymore.

She only glared at Shadr when he took the reins of the horse making him fidget and look at anything but her. Both women entered through the gates, the guards paying them no heed unlike when Thorain first arrived and the glint of recognition of their armor gave her a clue as to why.

The Ratway was still quiet as ever since Thorain had cleared it out of bums. The new thieves kept it free of them for the most part. The Warrens still held a few vagabonds but they kept to themselves. She faltered slightly when they arrived at the Ragged Flagon that looked particularly empty with the exception of Dirge and Vekel.

Vekel's eyes widened when she approached the bar feeling a bit light headed. Her wound was getting worse, but she refused to stall. "You're..." He exhaled in disbelief. "You're _alive_. When Mercer told us what happened... Brynjolf went searching for you."

"Bryn... he came after me?"

"He was gone for nearly a week. When he came back empty handed we assumed the worst. He said he couldn't find your body, but there was a lot of blood - fresh blood. He assumed you were dragged off by Draugr," Vekel explained.

"Where are they?"

He jerked his chin toward the secret entrance to the Cistern. "Where they always are."

Thorain took a deep breath, glancing back at Karliah who looked visibly nervous as to what was to come and for what was waiting for them: Friends? Or new enemies? She hoped she wouldn't have to pull a blade on her dearest friends... on Brynjolf. He was the brother she never had and she would be damned to lose him now.

"You're not looking so good, kid," Vekel commented. "Are you okay?"

She brushed him off with a simple, "I'll be fine."

Keeping a lax grip on her dagger, she took the lead toward the Cistern. She ducked under a wild swipe of a blade by Garthar and disarmed Ravyn before he could land a strike. "We're not here to fight. Back down, or I can be sure you won't walk out of here," She warned, low and dangerous. Garthar and Ravyn glanced at each other before Garthar relaxed his grip and Thorain handed Ravyn's blade back to him, giving her the queue to allow them to back off.

"Mercer told us you were dead,” Garthar quickly explained. He nudged Ravyn and they walked off into the Ragged Flagon.

She almost chuckled at the notion that Mercer declared her dead. “Dead. Right…” She glanced back at Karliah. "Now or never..." She said.

She grabbed the door handle and opened the door. She hesitated, seeing the glint of blades and Vex, Delvin and Brynjolf holding the pommels. Karliah put her hand on her shoulder and stepped past her, approaching the three they called their friends and Thorain prayed hard that they wouldn't be their former friends.

"You better have a damn good reason to be here with that murderer," Brynjolf growled out.

"Bryn..." She muttered stepping forward only to stagger a bit, her vision blurring.

Karliah held her hands up in surrender. "Please, lower your weapons so we can speak. I have proof that you've all been misled!"

Brynjolf hesitated for only a moment before sheathing his blade. "No tricks, Karliah or I'll cut you down where you stand," He warned. "Now what's this so called proof you speak of?"

"I have Gallus' journal," Karliah announced, reaching into her satchel and withdrawing the translated journal. "I think you'll find its contents disturbing."

Brynjolf held his hand out, "Let me see." She placed the journal in his outstretched hand. He flipped through the pages, skimming the words with his brows furrowed. "No, it... It can't be. This can't be true. I've known Mercer too long."

"It's true Brynjolf. Every word. Mercer's been stealing from the Guild for years, right under your noses."

"There's only one way to find out if what the lass says its true. Delvin, I'll need you to open the Vault."

Delvin nodded, giving Karliah a careful glance. "Wait just a blessed momment, Bryn," Delvin said. Thorain took a deep breath to calm her sweating and followed the others. "What's in that book? What did it say?"

"It says Mercer's been stealing from our vault for years. Gallus was looking into it before he was murdered," Bryn answered.

"How can Mercer open up a vault that has two keys? It's impossible. Could he pick his way in?"

Vex shook her head. "That door has the best puzzle locks money can buy. There's no way it can be picked open."

Karliah answered all their questions cryptically, "He didn't need to pick the lock."

Thorain balanced herself on the nearby bookshelf, pressing her hand to her chest-piece. "What's she on about?" Delvin questioned.

"Use your key on the vault, Delvin. We'll open it up and find out the truth," Brynjolf lightly ordered.

Delvin shrugged and stuck his key in its respective slot. "I've used my key, but the vault's still locked up tighter than a drum. Now use yours."

Brynjolf obliged and stuck the key in. The doors opened revealing... nothing – absolutely nothing except empty chests and baskets. The fortune that Thorain had accumulated for the Guild was gone. "By the Eight! It's gone, everything's gone! Get in here, all of you!"

"The gold, the jewels... it's all gone!" Delvin exclaimed.

Vex drew her dagger sharply and stormed for the door. "That son of a bitch! I'll kill him!"

Brynjolf jumped on her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back into the vault. "Vex! Put it away... right now!" Vex jerked out of his arms, but made no move for the door again. "We can't afford to lose our heads... we need to calm down and focus."

"Do what he says, Vex," Delvin tried to calm down the hostile platinum blonde. "This isn't helpin' right now."

"Fine," She hissed, sheathing her blade again. "We do it your way. For now."

"Delvin, Vex... watch the Flagon," Brynjolf ordered. "If you see Mercer, come tell me right away." He looked at Thorain and immediately looked worried. " Lass?"

Thorain leaned heavily against the bookshelf. "Lass!" He shouted as she fell forward. He caught her in an instant and gently lowered her to the floor. "Thorain!"

Karliah grabbed Brynjolf's arm. "Mercer stabbed her in the chest with his enchanted blade. She's been trying to heal it but it just won't close."

Brynjolf cursed out loud and scooped up the nearly unconscious Dunmer woman. "Saph! Get Nura!"

* * *

Nura had done her job and Thorain rubbed the thin scar leftover from the treatment and her own healing magic.

Delvin and Vex had left to keep a sharp eye on the Flagon in case Mercer returned while the other thieves guarded the archways leading to different areas of the Cistern. Karliah stood in the center of the Cistern pacing in circles.

Brynjolf leaned against the nearby wall, watching Thorain double check to make sure the wound was closed. “You had me worried, Lass,” He finally spoke after a long period of silence.

Thorain looked to the ground and asked, “What did Mercer say about me?”

“He told us you were dead. That you were violently killed by Karliah.”  
  
“And I heard you went after me.”

Brynjolf chuckled low and pathetic. “Of course I went after you. You were my responsibility and I let you go with that traitorous bastard. I didn’t believe Mercer for a second. You’re a trained assassin and there was no way you’d be killed by someone like Karliah.”

Thorain smiled. “She somehow managed to evade my detection at first. I didn’t have enough time to react before I was hit. It was too quick and she didn’t have enough time to aim properly. She just had to land the hit to get the paralytic poison into my system.”

Brynjolf laughed aloud and said, “Gets shot with an arrow by the enemy: Criticizes how sloppy the shot was.” She laughed at the statement and shrugged. Brynjolf’s jovial look completely changed to something more serious, “Look, before I have you help track Mercer down I need to know what you learned from Karliah. I mean everything.”

She crossed her arms and stood from the bed. “Well, first off it was Mercer who killed Gallus, not Karliah.”

The auburn haired Nord nodded. “Aye, I feared that was the case. From that last entry in Gallus’s diary, it looks like he was getting close to exposing Mercer to the Guild.”

“Karliah was behind Goldenglow and Honningbrew.”

“Trying to make Mercer look bad in front of Maven, eh? Clever lass.”

Thorain pointed a finger as Brynjolf’s nose. “I take claim to that pet name. Only me, not Karliah.” He chuckled and nodded with a playful roll of his eyes. “Continuing on… you might not believe this next bit: Gallus, Karliah and Mercer were Nightingales.”

He frowned and gave a confused look (not unexpected). “What? Nightingales? But, I always assumed they were just a tale… a way to keep the young footpads in line.” He shook his head. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s it. Everything of import at least.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Then I have an important task for you. I need you to break into Mercer’s home and search for anything that could tell us where he’s gone.”

Thorain cocked an eyebrow. “He has a house in Riften?”

She was thinking of that house nearby that was for sale to purchase for herself (she had the funds for it), to have a place to stash the things she had collected throughout her travels, but she was genuinely surprised to hear that Mercer had a house. She had never seen him leave the Guild, much less any indication he had a home.

“Aye. A gift from the Black-Briars after they kicked the previous family out… place called Riftweald Manor. He never stays there, just pays for the upkeep on it. Hired some lout by the name of Vald to guard the place.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

He smiled and placed his hand her shoulder. “Be careful. This is the last place in Skyrim I’d ever want to send you. Just find a way in, get the information and leave. And you have permission to kill anyone that stands in your way. Do what you do best, miss assassin.”

She smirked at the statement and patted her knives. “I always do my best, you know this, Bryn.”

“Just be careful in Mercer’s place. I don’t want to lose anyone else to that madman.”

“Don’t worry. It’s going to take more than Mercer to bring me down.”

“That’s what I’m worried about. What exactly could bring you down?”

She hadn’t meant to say it even in a joking manner, but before she could stop it she replied, “Probably a dragon if I’m not able to absorb its soul before it kills me.”

Brynjolf grabbed her arm before she could get any farther away from him. “Lass, do you want to run that by me again?”

Thorain gulped down the saliva that suddenly built up in her mouth. “I-It’s nothing.”

Brynjolf released her arm and crossed his, frowning at her and for a moment she felt like a child be scolded by her mother after being caught stealing sweetrolls from the markets in Cheydinhal. “Don’t lie to me, Thorain. You and I both know that won’t work.”

She sighed and sat down on her bed again. “Well, you know all about my near execution in Helgen and that a dragon with black hide attacked, allowing us to escape. What I didn’t tell you is what I did afterward. Ralof’s sister asked me to report the news of the dragon to Jarl Balgruuf. Which I did – repaying a debt and the like. Well, they asked me to go get a stone that supposed to show the whereabouts of the burial mounds of dragons. They promised me coin, so I did it since I really needed the coin.

“I got their stupid stone and suddenly his housecarl comes running up screaming that there’s a dragon attacking the western tower. Apparently surviving a dragon attack automatically makes me a dragon expert and they dragged me along to deal with it. It took a great while and cost me all of my arrows before we brought it down. The corpse erupted into flames and its… _soul_ swarmed out and into me. The guards called me Dragonborn and I got the hell out of town. Happy?”

Brynjolf nodded. “So you’re the Dragonborn.”

“I guess. But I don’t want anything to do with it. Being a ‘Nordic Hero of Legend’ isn't exactly in my repertoire.”

“Why not?”

“You’re really asking me this? Because I’m a scoundrel, a thief, I kill people for coin and because I enjoy it and all in all I am the exact _opposite_ of a hero.”

“Who also gives a spare coin or two to beggars, gives fire salts to Balimund and tries to hide the fact that she has a soft spot for the orphans at Honorhall.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but realized it was a trap and quickly clamped her mouth shut. “I’m going to Mercer’s,” She snorted out and walked away to the ladder.


End file.
